iiiiimliill'iil    iHiiii      '      '    '  .  : 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE 
OF  ETHICS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON  -    CHICAGO  •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •   SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •   BOMBAY  •   CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE 
OF  ETHICS 


BY 

THEODORE  DE  LAGUNA 

PROFESSOR   OF   PHILOSOPHY  IN   BRYN   MAWR 
COLLEGE 


|f  0tft 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1914 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYBI0HT,  1914, 

BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotypcd.    Published  December,  1914. 


Norfoooto 

J.  8.  Cashing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

THE  title  of  this  book  is  intended  to  be  fairly  descriptive  of 
it.  It  treats  of  ethics  as  a  science,  which  if  not  wholly  inde- 
pendent of  metaphysical  considerations  —  and  of  no  science 
can  that  be  said  —  is  sufficiently  independent  to  permit  of 
separate  positive  treatment.  And  under  the  broad  license 
of  an  'introduction7  it  presents  not  only  an  outline  of  the 
science  as  we  find  it  to-day,  but  some  account  of  the  past 
which  has  made  it  what  it  is. 

Part  I  contains  brief  chapters  upon  the  scope  and  methods 
of  the  science  and  upon  one  metaphysical  topic  (the  freedom 
of  the  will)  which  cannot  well  be  passed  over  in  silence.  But 
it  is  mainly  given  up  to  a  discussion  of  the  subjects  of  moral 
judgments  and  a  survey  of  the  various  kinds  of  standards 
according  to  which,  under  the  conditions  of  savage  or  of  civil- 
ized life,  moral  judgments  are  made.  It  is  thus  intended  to 
present  a  broad  background  of  facts  against  which  the  ex- 
planatory theories,  old  and  new,  may  be  the  better  appreciated. 

Part  II  is  a  review  of  the  principal  Greek  and  English 
ethical  theories.  In  an  introductory  note  I  have  given  my 
reasons  for  including  this  review.  It  does  not  purport  to  be 
a  history  of  ethics,  even  for  the  periods  which  it  covers.  By 
neglecting  much  that  is  important  to  the  historian,  I  have 
gained  space  for  a  fuller  and,  I  trust,  more  interesting  and 
instructive  treatment  of  the  men  and  movements  that  are 
included.  In  connection  with  Part  II  a  selection  from  the 
ethical  classics  should  certainly  be  read;  and  this,  however 
meager,  should  not  fail  to  comprise  Books  I,  II,  and  X  of  the 
Nicomachean  Ethics. 

Especially  in  the  case  of  the  Greek  ethicists,  I  have  not 
always  found  it  possible  to  separate  the  moral  theories  entirely 
from  their  metaphysical  basis ;  indeed,  to  have  done  so  would 


vi  PREFACE 

in  some  cases  have  amounted  to  a  falsification.  But  I  have  at 
least  relegated  the  metaphysics  to  a  strictly  subordinate  place. 

In  Part  III  a  positive  treatment  of  moral  problems  is  pre- 
sented in  connection  with  the  elements  of  the  general  theory 
of  values.  So  far  as  I  know,  this  is  the  first  attempt  at  an 
elementary  presentation  of  any  of  the  newer  phases  of  the 
latter  subject.  Not  that  the  theory  of  values  as  such  is  new. 
It  is  as  old  as  ethics  itself.  But  in  recent  years  it  has  under- 
gone a  great  development,  and  one  of  unusual  interest  —  a 
development,  however,  which  has  remained  buried  in  mono- 
graphs and  treatises  that  are  wholly  inaccessible  to  the  under- 
graduate student  as  well  as  to  the  educated  public  generally. 

It  should  be  observed  that  Part  III  is  intelligible  —  I  would 
not  say  equally  intelligible  —  without  the  previous  reading  of 
Part  II,  which  may  therefore  be  omitted  if  time  requires  or 
the  instructor  so  prefers.  Parts  I  and  III  will  then  serve 
as  an  <  Elements  of  Ethics.'  I  hope,  however,  that  this  ex- 
treme course  may  not  often  be  taken.  It  may,  however,  often 
be  necessary  to  omit  some  passages  of  Part  II ;  and  it  is  not 
so  closely  written  but  that  omissions  can  easily  be  made.  I 
would  suggest  that  Chapter  X  and  the  account  of  the  stimuli 
of  the  moral  sense  in  Chapter  XI,  while  dealing  of  matters 
of  great  importance  in  themselves,  may  be  most  easily  spared 
by  the  beginner. 

I  should  not  know  how  to  record  the  debts  which  I  have 
incurred  in  writing  this  book;  and  I  shall  not  attempt  it. 
The  great  debts,  of  which  I  remain  ever  conscious,  are,  natu- 
rally enough,  to  my  own  teachers  of  ethics,  Professor  Howison 
of  California  and  Professor  McGilvary  of  Cornell  and  Wis- 
consin; but  such  debts  are  more  easily  felt  than  set  forth. 
I  should,  however,  mention  that  in  the  writing  of  Chapter  XI 
I  received  several  suggestions  from  Dr.  Edna  Shearer  (a  pupil 
of  the  late  David  Irons),  whose  unpublished  dissertation  on 
Hume's  ethics  was  completed  under  my  supervision. 

CAMBRIDGE,  ENGLAND, 

November  14,  1914. 


CONTENTS 


PART  I.    THE  FIELD  OF  ETHICS 

CHAPTER  PA6K 

I.    SCOPE  AND  RELATIONS  OF  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS  .        3 
I.     THE  PROBLEMS  OP  ETHICS,  3. 
II.    THE  RELATIONS  OF  ETHICS,  8. 
III.     ETHICS  AS  A  THEORETICAL  SCIENCE  AND  AS  THE 

PHILOSOPHY  OF  PRACTICE,  11. 
II.    THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS 13 

III.  THE  FIELD  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENTS       ....      23 

I.  CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT,  23. 

II.  THE  MORAL  AGENT,  26. 

III.  EXTENT  OF  MORAL  CONDUCT,  29. 

IV.  CONTENT  OF  THE  MORAL  ACT,  31.      1.    The  Prob- 

lem, 31.     2.   Status  of  Unforeseen   Conse- 
quences, 33.     3.   Motive  vs.  Intention,  39. 
APPENDIX  :  THE  INTENTION  TO  Do  RIGHT,  42. 

IV.  RESPONSIBILITY  AND  FREEDOM 50 

I.    RESPONSIBILITY,  60. 

n.     THE    RELATION    BETWEEN    FREEDOM    AND    RE- 
SPONSIBILITY, 61. 

HI.    FURTHER  ARGUMENTS  FOR  INDETERMINISM,  56. 
IV.     FURTHER  ARGUMENTS  FOR  DETERMINISM,  68. 
V.    PHYSICAL  AND  QUASI-PHYSICAL  DETERMINISM,  63. 
V.    GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS    ...      66 
I  a.    THE  STANDARDS  OF  DUTY,  67.     1.  Instinctive  and 
Customarg  Standards,  67.     2.  Personal  Au- 
thority, 73.    3.    The  Authority  of  Law,  77. 
vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAG» 

I  6.  THE  STANDARDS  OF  BENEVOLENCE,  80.  1.  Ideality 
of  Benevolence  and  Virtue,  80.  2.  Benevo- 
lence in  General,  82.  3.  The  Objects  of 
Benevolence,  83.  (1)  Benevolence  to  Indi- 
viduals, 83.  (2)  Devotion  to  an  Institution, 
85.  (3)  Devotion  to  a  Cause,  86.  (4)  Devo- 
tion to  a  Representative,  87. 

II.  THE  STANDARDS  OF  VIRTUE,  88.  1.  The  Kinds  of 
Virtue,  88.  (1)  Courage,  89.  (2)  Temper- 
ance, 91.  (3)  Wisdom,  93.  2.  Virtue  without 
Effort,  96.  3.  The  Imitation  of  the  Ideal,  97. 

PART  II.    THE  CLASSICAL   SCHOOLS 

INTRODUCTORY  NOTE .101 

VI.    THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ETHICS 105 

I.     THE  SOPHISTS,  105. 

II.  SOCRATES,  112.  l.  Fundamental  Assumptions, 
113.  2.  Theory  of  Virtue,  115. 

VII.    HEDONISM .       *    123 

I.    ARISTIPPUS,  124. 
II.    OTHER  HEDONISTS,  126. 
VIH.    ENERGISM         .        .        .        .        .       .       .       . '      .    131 

I.     GENERAL  FEATURES  OF  ANCIENT  ENERGISM,  131. 

II.     PLATO,   133.     1.    The   Virtues  in   General,  135. 

2.    Wisdom,  138.    3.   Pleasure,  142. 

III.  ARISTOTLE,    144.      1.  Metaphysical    Basis,   145. 

2.  Happiness,  147.     3.    Virtue,  149.    4.  The 
Supremacy  of  Pure  Reason,  163. 

IV.  CONCLUDING  COMMENTS,  154. 

IX.    RIGORISM  .        . 158 

I.     THE  CYNICS,  158. 
n.    THE    STOICS,    163.       1.    The    Background,   163. 

2.  The  Relation  of  Morality  to  Instinct,  164. 

3.  The  Stoic  Paradoxes,  167.     4-    The  Virtu- 
ous Life,  169. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

X.    THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS  ....    175 
I.    THE  POINT  OP  DEPARTURE,  175. 
n.     HOBBES,  177.     1.   Fundamental  Principles,  177. 
2.    The  State  of  Nature,  182.    3.    The  Con- 
ditions of  Peace,  185.     4.    The  Function  of 
the  State,  187. 

III.  CUDWORTH,  189. 

IV.  CUMBERLAND,  190. 

XL    THE  CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CEN- 
TURY   .        .        .        .       .        .        .        .198 

I.     PRELIMINARY  REMARKS,  198. 
II.    INTUITIONALISM,  200.     1.    The  Mathematical  An- 
alogy, 200.      2.    Obligation  —  Reward   and 
Punishment,  203.     3.    The    Universality  of 
Moral  Laws,  206. 

HI.     SEKTIMENTALISM,  207.     1.  Empirical  Standpoint, 
207.    2.  The  Analogy  of  Beauty,  208.     3.  Ob- 
ligation, 215.     4.    The  Stimuli,  217. 
IV.    UTILITARIANISM,  223.      1.    The  Utilitarian  Pro- 
gram, 223.     2.    Obligation,  226.     3.  Appro- 
bation and  Disapprobation,  230. 
V.    CONCLUDING  REMARKS,  232. 

XII.    THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  AND  GERMAN  INFLUENCE    235 
I.    THE  NEW  UTILITARIANISM,  235. 
H.     KANT,  238. 
IIL    FICHTE,  242. 
IV.     HEGEL,  243. 

V.     THE  ENGLISH  CONTROVERSIES,  245. 
XIIL    THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY     .        .        .        .  *    .    247 

I.     THE  KINDS  OF  HEDONISM,  247. 
II.     THE  SELFISH  THEORY,  252. 

III.  THE  THEORY  OF  ORIGINAL  SELFISHNESS,  259. 

IV.  THE   HEDONISTIC  THEORY  OF  VALUES   IN  GEN- 

ERAL, 261. 
V.     ETHICAL  HEDONISM,  271. 


X  CONTENTS 

PART  III.     THE  EVOLUTIONARY  THEORY 
OF  MORAL  VALUES 

CHAPTER  PAGK 

XIV.    THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  MORALITY  FOR  SOCIETY        .    281 
I.     INTRODUCTION,  281. 
II.     MORALITY  AND  SOCIAL  WELFARE,  282. 

III.  SOCIAL  INTERCOURSE,  286. 

IV.  THE  EELATION  OP  MORALITY  TO  SOCIAL  IN- 

TERCOURSE, 292. 
XV.    CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND  VALUE        .        .        .    296 

I.     MORALITY  AND  INDIVIDUAL  WELFARE,  296. 
II.    CHARACTER,  298. 

III.  THE  SENTIMENTS,  304. 

IV.  VALUATION,  311. 

V.    THE  VALUE  OF  A  SUM  OF  THINGS,  315. 
VI.    VIRTUE  AND  HAPPINESS,   318.      1.  Indirect 
Value  of  Morality,  318.    2.  Direct  Value 
of  Morality,  320. 
XVI.    THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS,  AND  THE 

OBJECTIVITY  OF  VALUES    .        .        .    324 
I.     INTRODUCTION,  324. 
II.     THE  EXCITATION  OF  SYMPATHY,  325. 

III.  ADMIRATION    AND    CONTEMPT.      PRIDE   AND 

SHAME,  329. 

IV.  THE  EDUCATION  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS,  330. 
V.     THE  OBJECTIVITY  OF  VALUES,  335. 

VI.    THE  FUNCTION  OF  THE  ELITE,  340. 
VII.     ABSOLUTE  VALUES,  347. 
VIII.     HISTORICAL  CONTINUITY,  350. 
IX.     INDIVIDUAL  DIFFERENCES,  354. 
X.    VALUES  PECULIAR  TO  MINOR  SOCIAL  GROUPS, 

358. 

XVII.    THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  DARWINISM    .        .        .       .    360 
I.    EVOLUTION  IN  GENERAL,  360. 
II.     DARWINISM,  363. 


CONTENTS 


III.  APPLICATION  OP  DARWINISM  TO  ETHICS,  367. 

IV.  CONGENITAL  BASIS  OF  MORALITY,  372. 
V.     THE  ANALOGY  OP  LANGUAGE,  376. 

XVHL    THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   .        .        .    379 
I.     CONDITIONS  OP  MORAL  EVOLUTION,  379. 
IL    THE  PROBLEM,  381. 
HE.     THE  MODIFICATION  OP  STANDARDS  OP  VALUE, 

382. 

IV.     CONVENTIONALITY  IN  MORAL  STANDARDS,  388. 
V.     DOUBT  AND  REFLECTION,  391. 
VI.    THE  RISE  OP  DISCONTENT,  394. 
VII.     DUTY  AND  BENEVOLENCE  IN  EVOLUTION,  398. 
Vin.     THE  PROGRESS  OF  BENEVOLENCE,  401. 
IX.     THE    RELATION    OP  VIRTUE   TO  DUTY   AND 

BENEVOLENCE,  404. 
CONCLUSION  ...........    407 

INDEX    ............    413 


GENERAL  REFERENCES 

ELEMENTARY  WORKS. 

MACKENZIE,  J.  S.,  Manual  of  Ethics. 

MUIRHEAD,  J.  H.,  Elements  of  Ethics. 

SETH,  J.,  A  Study  of  Ethical  Principles. 

THILLY,  F.,  Introduction  to  Ethics. 

FITE,  W.,  An  Introductory  Study  of  Morals. 

MEZES,  S.  E.,  Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory. 

BOWNE,  B.  P.,  The  Principles  of  Ethics. 

PERRY,  R.  B.,  The  Moral  Economy. 

DEWEY  and  TUFTS,  Ethics. 

PALMER,  G.  H.,  The  Field  of  Ethics,  and  The  Nature  of 

Goodness. 

PAULSEN,  F.,  System  of  Ethics. 
ROYCE,  J.,  The  Philosophy  of  Loyalty. 
RASHDALL,  H.,  Ethics. 
SORLEY,  W.  R.,  The  Moral  Life. 
MOORE,  G.  E.,  Ethics. 

TREATISES : 

WUNDT,  W.,  Ethics. 

STEPHEN,  L.,  Science  of  Ethics. 

JANET,  P.,  The  Theory  of  Morals. 

LADD,  G.,  The  Philosophy  of  Conduct. 

MOORE,  G.  E.,  Principia  Ethica. 

TAYLOR,  A.  E.,  The  Problem  of  Conduct. 

RASHDALL,  H.,  The  Theory  of  Good  and  Evil. 

HOBHOUSE,  L.  T.,  Morals  in  Evolution. 

WESTERMARCK,  E.,   The   Origin  and  Development  of  the 

Moral  Ideas. 

READ,  C.,  Natural  and  Social  Morals. 
WALLACE,  W.,  Lectures  and  Essays  on  Natural  Theology 
and  Ethics. 


PAET   I 
THE  FIELD   OF  ETHICS 


CHAPTER  I 

SCOPE  AND  RELATIONS  OF  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 
I.    THE  PROBLEMS  OF  ETHICS 

Double  Origin  of  the  Science. — The  science  of  ethics  has 
grown  principally  out  of  the  attempts  to  solve  two  sets  of 
problems,  which  at  first  sight  may  not  appear  to  be  closely 
connected  with  each  other.  On  the  one  hand  it  has  been 
asked :  What  is  happiness  ?  What  would  be  the  highest  or 
most  complete  happiness?  What  can  a  man  do  toward  secur- 
ing happiness  for  himself  or  for  others  f  On  the  other  hand 
the  inquiry  has  been  raised :  What  is  the  meaning  of  '  right ' 
and  l  wrong'  '  good '  and  l  bad,'  as  applied  to  men's  conduct 
and  character?  How  do  we  make  these  distinctions  and 
what  validity  do  they  possess?  But  however  different  their 
starting-points,  the  two  inquiries  are  apt  to  run  together 
very  speedily.  The  study  of  the  conditions  of  happiness 
usually  reveals  the  fact  that  virtue,  or  good  character  — 
the  sort  of  character  that  shows  itself  in  right  conduct  — 
is  by  far  the  most  important  condition.  Some  moralists 
have  even  identified  virtue  and  happiness.  And  the  study 
of  moral  distinctions  has  either  led  to  the  conclusion  that 
their  meaning  is  somehow  bound  up  with  the  happy  or  un- 
happy consequences  of  conduct ;  or,  at  least,  the  study  has 
involved  some  consideration  of  reward  and  punishment, 
and  thus  the  problem  of  the  relation  between  virtue  and  hap- 
piness has  come  into  view. 

Preliminary  Definition.  —  Ethics  thus  constitutes  a  unified 
body  of  doctrine,  which  may  be  defined  as  the  science  of 

3 


4    :INTW)jyVCTION  :TQ  'THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

morality,  or  the  science  of  moral  distinctions.1  Such  a  defi- 
nition will  not  apply  perfectly  to  every  system  that  has 
passed  under  the  name  of  '  ethics  ' ;  but  that  is  not  to  be 
expected.  One  can  never  give  a  logically  perfect  definition 
of  an  historical  growth.  One  cannot,  for  example,  define 
socialism  or  Christianity  in  such  a  way  as  to  include  all  who 
have  ever  been  regarded  as  socialists  or  as  Christians, 
without  making  the  terms  so  broad  that  scarcely  any  one 
would  be  excluded.  Now  it  is  one  of  the  best  approved 
maxims  of  science,  that  one  should  be  content  with  the  degree 
of  exactness  which  the  given  subject-matter  admits  of.  To 
strain  beyond  this  is  to  make  oneself  liable  to  serious  error. 
The  definitions  which  we  give  here  must  be  taken  simply  as 
preliminary  indications,  which  may  give  the  student  a  fair 
idea  of  what  to  expect,  and  may  help  him  to  thread  his  way 
through  the  discussions  that  are  to  follow. 

Ambiguity  of  Terms.  —  If  the  attempt  is  made  to  amplify 
the  definition  of  ethics  by  explaining  the  terms  '  moral ' 
and  '  morality/  a  curious  difficulty  arises.  Almost  all 
the  familiar  expressions  that  might  be  used  for  such  an  ex- 
planation are  found  to  be  fatally  ambiguous.  For  instance, 
let  us  consider  the  adjectives  '  good '  and  '  bad.'  These 
are  used  to  denote,  not  simply  moral  qualities,  but  any  sort 
of  worth  or  unworth  whatsoever.  Dogs  and  horses,  houses 
and  lands,  groceries,  pictures,  scientific  theories  —  anything 
that  is  capable  of  attracting  human  interest  —  may  be  good 
or  bad.  Men  themselves  may  be  thus  described  in  more 
senses  than  one.  "  Antonio  is  a  good  man,"  may  be  a 
testimony  to  his  virtue  or  an  acknowledgment  of  his  mer- 

1  The  term  '  ethics '  is  derived  from  the  Greek  i?0i/c<£  (moral),  from  ^0os 
(character),  which  Aristotle  rightly  surmised  to  be  connected  with  tfflos 
(custom) .  This  connection  seemed  to  him  to  be  important,  because  he  be- 
lieved that  the  process  of  character-forming  is  essentially  one  of  habituation. 
The  term  '  moral '  is  similarly  derived  from  moralia  (the  Latin  technical 
equivalent  for  iJfliAcel),  formed  by  analogy  from  mos  (custom,  manners). 
Aristotle,  Nichomachean  Ethics,  II,  1 ;  cf.  Wundt,  Ethics,  vol.  I,  pp.  24-26. 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS  5 

cantile  standing.  Only  the  context  can  determine.  So  also 
with  the  other  pair  of  adjectives,  '  right '  and  '  wrong.' 
Anything  that  conforms,  or  fails  to  conform,  to  a  standard  of 
sufficiency  or  correctness  is  right  or  wrong  accordingly. 
Conformity  to  moral  standards  is  only  one  sort  of  Tightness. 
To  denote  it  plainly  it  must  be  set  down  as  '  morally  right.' 
Similarly  of  '  merit/  '  responsibility/  '  obligation.'  They 
may  be  as  wide  or  as  narrow  as  you  please.  '  Ought/ 
like  '  right '  and  '  wrong/  refers  to  conformity  to  a  given 
standard.  Everything  ought  to  be  right.  '  Virtue '  itself, 
though  usually  restricted  to  moral  goodness,  is  sometimes 
applied  to  the  valuable  properties  of  inanimate  substances. 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  this  ambiguity  is  due  to  any 
peculiar  poverty  of  the  English  language.  Other  languages 
show  a  similar  condition.  Our  language  has,  indeed,  two 
important  common  terms  that  are  regularly  used  in  an  ethical 
significance,  —  '  conscience  '  and  '  duty.'  But  one  hears 
too  of  an  '  aesthetic  conscience.'  And  the  word  '  duties  ' 
is  often  used  to  denote  merely  what  a  man  is  employed 
to  perform  —  a  sense  far  too  narrow  for  ethical  purposes. 
Consequently,  if  the  student  does  not  already  know  pretty 
well  what  '  morality  '  means,  no  definition  that  we  can  give 
is  likely  to  be  of  much  use  to  him.  The  only  ready  device 
that  could  be  used  to  cure  his  ignorance  would  be  a  list 
of  typical  actions  and  traits  of  character  to  which  moral 
predicates  are  applied. 

Two  Kinds  of  Moral  Valuation.  —  The  fact  that  our 
language,  like  many  others,  has  two  common  pairs  of  terms 
by  which  to  denote  moral  distinctions  is  significant.  It 
points  to  two  markedly  different  attitudes  toward  the  moral 
problems  of  daily  life,  from  which  important  differences  in 
ethical  theory  have  arisen.  '  Good  '  and  '  bad  '  are  names 
for  positive  and  negative  values,  which  are  attributed  both 
to  conduct  and  to  character.  Various  grades  of  '  better ' 
and  '  worse  '  are  recognized,  with  the  zero-point  of  the 


6      INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

1  indifferent '  somewhere  between.  '  Right '  and  '  wrong  ' 
also  express  a  kind  of  valuation;  but  they  are  directly 
applicable  only  to  conduct,  and  only  indirectly  to  the  author 
of  the  conduct.  '  Right '  denotes-  agreement  with  a  certain 
standard,  and  hence  it  is  not  properly  susceptible  of  degrees. 
Furthermore,  there  is  no  zero-point :  an  act  is  either  right  or 
not  right,  and  if  not  right  it  is  wrong.  There  may  be  degrees 
of  wrongness,  but  only  in  the  sense  of  amount  of  departure 
from  the  standard  of  Tightness. 

Examples.  —  There  is  perhaps  no  way  in  which  the  student 
can  better  be  introduced  to  the  study  of  ethics  than  by  setting 
before  him  examples  of  these  two  types  of  moral  valuation  — 
the  personal  and  the  'impersonal,  as  we  may  call  them.  The 
examples  which  we  shall  use  for  this  purpose  would  have 
been  so  familiar  to  the  reader  of  a  generation  or  two  ago, 
that  the  barest  reference  would  have  been  sufficient.  One 
may  wish  that  this  were  the  case  to-day.  The  first,  illus- 
trating the  personal  type  of  valuation,  consists  of  the  con- 
cluding words  of  a  speech  of  a  rude  shepherd,  whose  younger 
brother  —  whom  he  has  promised  his  aged  father  to  protect  — 
has  been  convicted  of  a  serious  theft  and  condemned  to 
slavery : 

"  Now  therefore  when  I  come  to  thy  servant  my  father, 
and  the  lad  is  not  with  us ;  seeing  that  his  life  is  bound  up 
with  the  lad's  life ;  it  will  come  to  pass,  when  he  seeth  that 
the  lad  is  not  with  us,  that  he  will  die:  and  thy  servants 
will  bring  down  the  gray  hairs  of  thy  servant  our  father  with 
sorrow  to  Sheol.  For  thy  servant  became  surety  for  the  lad 
unto  my  father,  saying,  If  I  bring  him  not  unto  thee,  then 
shall  I  bear  the  blame  to  my  father  for  ever.  Now  therefore, 
let  thy  servant,  I  pray  thee,  abide  instead  of  the  lad  a  bond- 
man to  my  lord ;  and  let  the  lad  go  up  with  his  brethren. 
For  how  shall  I  go  up  to  my  father,  if  the  lad  is  not  with 
me?  lest  I  see  the  evil  that  shall  come  on  my  father."  1 

1  Genesis  xliv.  30-34 ;   American  Standard  Version. 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS  7 

The  second  example  exhibits  a  contrast  to' the  first,  which 
is  all  the  more  striking  because  it  too  involves  the  fulfillment 
of  a  promise ;  not,  however,  to  a  man,  but  to  a  tribal  God. 
A  chieftain,  going  out  to  battle,  has  vowed  that  if  he  returns 
victorious  he  will  offer  up  as  a  burnt  sacrifice  whatever  first 
comes  out  of  his  house  to  meet  him ;  and  his  daughter,  an 
only  child,  is  the  first  to  appear : 

"  And  it  came  to  pass,  when  he  saw  her,  that  he  rent  his 
clothes,  and  said,  Alas,  my  daughter !  thou  hast  brought  me 
very  low,  and  thou  art  one  of  them  that  trouble  me ;  for  I 
have  opened  my  mouth  unto  Jehovah,  and  I  cannot  go  back. 
And  she  said  unto  him,  My  father,  thou  hast  opened  thy 
mouth  unto  Jehovah ;  do  unto  me  that  which  hath  proceeded 
out  of  thy  mouth,  forasmuch  as  Jehovah  hath  taken  ven- 
geance for  thee  on  thine  enemies,  even  on  the  children  of 
Ammon."  * 

These  examples  might  be  paralleled  without  end ;  but  we 
shall  limit  ourselves  to  a  third  example,  in  which  the  personal 
and  impersonal  types  of  moral  valuation  are  seen  in  conflict. 
A  religious  teacher  and  certain  of  his  followers  are  walking 
through  the  grainfields  on  the  sabbath  day;  and  the  latter 
have  plucked  some  of  the  ears,  thus  technically  breaking  an 
ancient  and  venerated  law,  and  arousing  the  criticism  of 
punctilious  lovers  of  the  law : 

"  And  he  said  unto  them,  Did  ye  never  read  what  David 
did,  when  he  had  need,  and  was  hungry,  he,  and  they  that 
were  with  him?  How  he  entered  into  the  house  of  God 
when  Abiathar  was  high  priest,  and  ate  the  show-bread, 
which  it  is  not  lawful  to  eat  save  for  the  priests,  and  gave 
also  to  them  that  were  with  him?  " 

And  the  whole  issue  is  immediately  summed  up  in  the  sen- 
tence that  has  passed  into  a  proverb :  "  The  sabbath  was 
made  for  man,  and  not  man  for  the  sabbath." 2 

1  Judges  si.  35-36.  2  Mark  ii.  23  ff. 


8     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

II.  THE  RELATIONS  OF  ETHICS 

With  Politics.  —  Ethics  stands  in  very  close  relations  with 
several  other  sciences.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  intimately 
connected  with  political  theory.  (1)  When  ethics  is  regarded 
as  primarily  the  theory  of  happiness,  the  investigator  soon 
discovers  that  political  conditions  have  much  to  do  in  deter- 
mining the  happiness  or  unhappiness  of  whole  peoples.  To 
distinguish  between  the  two  sciences,  ethics  may  be  regarded 
as  treating  of  the  conditions  of  happiness  so  far  as  these  are 
under  the  control  of  the  individual ;  while  to  politics  is  left 
the  problem  of  determining  how  the  general  happiness  may 
be  determined  by  wise  government.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the 
two  sciences  are  regarded  as  essentially  one.  Politics  may 
be  treated  as  a  department  of  ethics ;  or  ethics  may  be  treated 
(as  by  Aristotle)  as  an  introduction  to  politics.  (2)  When 
ethics  is  viewed  as  treating  primarily  of  the  moral  distinc- 
tions, the  connection  with  politics  is  equally  close.  For  one 
of  the  most  important  functions  of  the  state  is  the  establish- 
ment of  justice  within  its  borders,  that  is  to  say,  the  enforce- 
ment of  certain  moral  standards.  And  when  it  appears  that 
the  state  is  not  adequately  fulfilling  this  function,  but  that 
its  laws  are  at  various  points  in  conflict  with  the  ideal  stand- 
ards of  justice,  an  ethical  question  arises,  whether  the  duty 
of  the  individual  citizen  is  not  to  obey  the  laws  of  the  land, 
imperfect  as  they  may  be,  while,  if  possible,  laboring  for  their 
amendment.  Besides,  in  the  dealings  of  states  with  each 
other,  many  questions  as  to  rights  and  duties  arise,  which 
a  comprehensive  treatment  of  moral  distinctions  cannot 
wholly  ignore. 

With  Esthetics  and  Economics.  —  In  the  second  place, 
ethics  is  related  to  aesthetics  and  economics.  These  also 
treat  of  values ;  the  one  of  beauty  and  such  allied  values  as 
the  sublime,  the  tragic,  and  the  comic ;  the  other  of  exchange- 
values.  Some  thinkers  have  pushed  the  connection  between 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS  9 

ethics  and  aesthetics  so  close,  that  moral  goodness  has  been 
regarded  as  a  mere  species  of  beauty,  correlative  with  the 
beauty  of  sounds  and  shapes  and  colors.  Certain  it  is  that 
moral  goodness  often  strikes  us  as  beautiful  or  sublime,  and 
that  vicious  suggestions  may  be  a  serious  blemish  upon  an 
otherwise  beautiful  work  of  art.  However,  many  ethicists 
have  regarded  moral  goodness  as  so  widely  different  from  all 
other  values,  that  the  analogy  with  beauty  has  been  lightly 
esteemed  or  altogether  denied.  It  may  be  added  that  some 
writers,  to  whom  the  conception  of  conformity  to  a  fixed 
type  has  seemed  all-important,  have  found  a  relationship 
between  ethics  and  formal  logic.  For  formal  logic,  too,  deals 
with  fixed  standards.  The  canons  of  correct  reasoning  must 
be  observed,  or  the  demonstration  is  fallacious;  and  there 
is  no  middle  ground  between  validity  and  invalidity.  Here 
also  the  analogy  has  sometimes  been  pushed  to  extremes, 
and  morality  has  been  regarded  as  a  species  of  truth.  The 
connection  of  ethics  with  economics  is  seemingly  not  so  close 
as  with  aesthetics,  though  many  similar  phenomena  are  to  be 
observed  in  the  two  fields.  Just,  for  example,  as  the  in- 
creased scarcity  of  a  needed  article  brings  about  a  rise  in  its 
price,  so  the  estimation  in  which  a  virtue  is  popularly  held 
is  affected  by  its  rarity.  Among  a  licentious  people  the 
chaste  man  is  a  saint.  Among  the  deceitful  Greeks  the  hero 
Achilles  was  admired  for  nothing  more  than  for  his  absolute 
lack  of  guile. 

With  the  Theory  of  Values.  —  Ethics,  aesthetics,  and  eco- 
nomics may  all  be  regarded  as  subordinate  to  a  general  science 
of  values.  Only  in  recent  years  has  such  a  separate  science 
been  organized  under  the  name  of  '  axiology,'  or  the  '  theory 
of  values/  But  from  the  earliest  times  discussions  of  this 
nature  have  formed  a  part  of  the  foundations  of  ethics. 
"  What  is  good  ?  "  was  one  of  the  first  questions  to  be  asked 
when  scientific  attention  began  to  turn  to  the  problems  of 
human  life.  The  specifically  ethical  question,  "  What  is 


10    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

happiness  ?  "  —  that  is  to  say :  What  is  the  sort  of  experience 
which  is  good  in  itself,  and  not  simply  as  a  necessary  condi- 
tion for  some  other  experience  ?  —  only  gradually  distin- 
guished itself  from  this  more  general  inquiry. 

With  Sociology.  —  Since  the  origin  (in  the  nineteenth 
century)  of  a  distinct  science  of  social  institutions,  called 
'  sociology/  its  contact  with  ethics  has  been  unbroken.1  Moral 
sentiments  are  recognized  as  one  of  the  great  forces  by  which 
the  customs  and  forms  of  organization  of  societies  are  shaped. 
Contrariwise,  the  customs  and  organizations  are  almost 
universally  believed  to  be  an  essential  factor  in  the  main- 
tenance and  development  of  moral  sentiments.  Religious, 
political,  commercial  institutions  all  have  their  influence  upon 
the  moral  life ;  none  more  than  that  oldest  of  institutions, 
which  under  various  transformations  has  come  down  to  us 
from  the  very  beginnings  of  civilization,  and  has  its  roots 
in  the  instinctive  traits  of  our  prehuman  ancestors,  —  the 
family.  Consequently  the  study  of  social  institutions,  while 
it  cannot  for  the  purposes  of  ethics  take  the  place  of  the  study 
of  the  moral  consciousness  itself,  is  capable  of  illustrating 
it  most  admirably,  and  of  casting  light  upon  many  of  its  most 
obscure  problems. 

With  Psychology.  —  In  common  with  all  the  other  mental 
sciences,  ethics  is  dependent  upon  the  general  science  of 
mind,  psychology.  But  the  precise  nature  of  this  dependency 
is  one  of  the  most  hotly  debated  questions  of  the  present  day. 
At  one  extreme  are  those  who  regard  ethics  as  a  branch  of 
psychology,  and  particularly  of  social  psychology.  At  the 
other  extreme  are  those  who  declare  that  psychology  is 
utterly  incompetent  to  decide  a  single  ethical  question.  The 
controversy  is  complicated  by  the  fact  that  there  exist  two 
distinct  types  of  psychological  theory,  the  structural  and  the 

1  It  should  be  observed  that  the  sense  in  which  this  word  is  used  still 
fluctuates  widely.  As  we  use  it  here  it  does  not  include  social  psychology, 
the  importance  of  which  for  ethics  is  doubtless  even  greater/ 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS  11 

functional;  and  the  relation  of  ethics  to  each  of  these  is 
matter  for  controversy.  Meanwhile  all  are  agreed  that  the 
ethicist  must  make  constant  use  of  psychological  data  and 
methods ;  and  this  is,  after  all,  the  most  important  point  for 
us  to  note.  When,  as  is  often  the  case,  the  study  of  ethics 
is  begun  without  a  previous  grounding  in  the  elements  of 
psychology,  some  attempt  must  be  made  to  remedy  the  de- 
ficiency as  occasion  arises. 

The  '  is  '  versus  the  '  ought  to  be.'  —  There  is  one  phase  of 
this  controversy  which  we  cannot  pass  over  without  notice. 
Psychology,  it  is  said,  treats  simply  of  what  is,  and  has  no  con- 
cern with  what  ought  to  be,  and  hence  the  distinctions  be- 
tween good  and  bad,  right  and  wrong,  do  not  fall  within  its 
province ;  while  ethics  is  precisely  the  science  of  what  ought 
to  be,  regardless  of  what  is.  Such  a  statement  is  open  to 
criticism.  For  a  peculiar  form  of  ethical  theory  is  suggested 
which  in  our  day  has  few  defenders.  All  admit,  to  be  sure, 
that  the  mere  fact  that  a  condition  of  affairs  exists,  or  that  an 
act  is  commonly  performed,  does  not  prove  it  to  be  right. 
But  that  the  standards  of  right  and  wrong  are  absolutely 
independent  of  circumstances  of  every  sort  —  that  under  all 
possible  conditions,  in  all  ages  and  climes  and  in  all  stages  of 
social  development,  the  same  laws  of  righteousness  hold  sway 
—  is  not  so  clear ;  and,  if  true,  it  is  not  to  be  lightly  taken 
for  granted.  So  weighty  a  doctrine  ought  not  to  be  hidden 
away  under  cover  of  a  verbal  antithesis. 


III.  ETHICS  AS  A  THEORETICAL  SCIENCE  AND  AS  THE 
PHILOSOPHY  OF  PRACTICE 

Theoretical  and  Practical  Sciences.  —  Sciences  are  some- 
times classified  as  theoretical  sciences  and  practical  sciences 
(or  arts).  A  theoretical  science  is  the  system  of  existing 
knowledge  of  a  given  subject-matter.  The  mathematical 
sciences,  physics,  chemistry,  biology,  and  economics,  are 


12    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

examples  of  such  sciences.  A  practical  science  is  a  system- 
atic body  of  knowledge  bearing  upon  the  accomplishment  of 
a  given  end.  The  sciences  of  medicine  and  pedagogy  are 
obviously  of  this  kind. 

Ethics  belongs  on  both  sides  of  the  classification.  It  is  a 
theoretical  science  having  as  its  subject-matter  the  moral 
distinctions.  But  it  is  also  a  practical  science,  having  as  its 
object  the  assurance  of  happiness. 

Philosophy  and  the  Special  Sciences.  —  There  is  another 
familiar  division  of  the  sciences,  into  philosophy  and  the 
special  sciences.  The  difference  is  here  one  of  comprehen- 
siveness and  generality.  Here  again  ethics  belongs  on  both 
sides.  As  the  science  of  morality  it  is  a  special  science, 
comprised,  along  with  economics  and  aesthetics,  under  the 
general  theory  of  values.  But  as  a  practical  science  it  is  not 
simply  one  among  others.  It  is  the  art  of  life,  having  as 
its  object  the  establishment  of  a  universal  policy.  In  this 
aspect,  therefore,  it  is  philosophical. 

In  this  introductory  study,  we  shall  consider  ethics  pri- 
marily as  a  special  theoretical  science,  paying  only  secondary 
attention  to  its  significance  as  the  philosophy  of  practice. 

REFERENCES 

HIBBEN,  J.  G.,  The  Problems  of  Philosophy,  Ch.  VIII. 

PALMER,  G.  H.,  The  Field  of  Ethics  (contains  many  further  refer- 
ences). 

DEWEY  and  TUFTS,  Ethics,  Ch.  XI. 

SIDGWICK,  H.,  History  of  Ethics,  Ch.  I.,  and  Methods  of  Ethics, 
Book  I,  Chs.  I,  II. 

The  opening  chapters  of  the  text-books  of  Mezes,  Mackenzie,  Muir- 
head,  and  Hyslop. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS 

Empiricism  vs.  Rationalism.  —  The  methods  which  have 
been  used  in  ethical  speculation  have  been  to  a  varying  ex- 
tent affected  by  the  views  which  philosophers  have  held  with 
regard  to  the  nature  of  scientific  method  generally.  Of  these 
views  the  two  principal  types  are  empiricism  and  rationalism. 
According  to  the  former,  all  scientific  truth  is  established 
by  induction,  that  is  to  say,  by  deriving  general  rules  from  the 
comparison  of  particular  instances,  and  by  the  gradual  cor- 
rection of  one's  theories  through  noting  and  taking  account 
of  the  exceptions  to  them.  Some  empiricists  —  notably 
Socrates  and  Francis  Bacon  —  have  believed  that  absolutely 
certain  truth  could  be  obtained  by  such  means ;  but  for  the 
most  part  it  has  been  admitted  that  the  best  of  theories 
is  ever  liable  to  correction  in  the  light  of  some  new  observa- 
tion. According  to  the  rationalistic  view,  the  first  principles 
of  science  are  all  self-evident.  They  are  either  definitions  or 
intuitions  of  reason,  and  in  either  case  need  no  support  from 
particular  instances.  Other  laws  can  be  regarded  as  properly 
established,  only  when  they  have  been  deduced  from  these 
first  principles.  Particular  facts  may  suggest  or  illustrate 
the  truth,  but  no  number  or  variety  of  them  can  prove  it. 
Geometry  has  always  been  the  model  science  of  the  rational- 
ist. Its  axioms  are  his  favorite  examples  of  self-evident 
truths ;  and  its  consecutive  demonstrations  are  to  him  the 
perfection  of  method.  The  geometrician  uses  particular 
figures  in  his  work,  but  only  for  their  suggestive  value. 
He  never  imagines  that  by  heaping  up  instances  he  can 

13 


14    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

strengthen  the  evidence  in  favor  of  any  of  his  theorems. 
His  proofs  are  strictly  universal  in  their  scope. 

Between  the  extreme  views  various  compromises  have 
been  made.  Very  generally  it  has  been  held  that  science  has 
two  distinct  stages,  the  inductive  and  the  deductive,  and 
that  the  former  is  an  indispensable  prelude  to  the  latter. 
Thus  Aristotle  believed  that  the  first  principles  of  science 
must  first  be  brought  to  our  attention  by  the  devious  and 
uncertain  process  of  induction,  but  that  when  found  they  are 
perfectly  evident  in  their  own  right.  Experience,  for  exam- 
ple, has  led  us  to  notice  that  the  straight  line  is  the  shortest 
between  any  two  points ;  but  once  noticed  it  is  in  need  of  no 
experimental  evidence.  Many  ancient  and  modern  writers 
have  adopted  this  view.  It  is  a  modification  of  Plato's, 
who  believed  that  in  order  to  pass  from  the  imperfect  truths 
of  induction  to  the  single  supreme  principle  (for  he  thought 
that  there  was  but  one),  no  further  induction,  no  further 
reference  to  particular  instances,  is  necessary;  but  that  by 
gradually  removing  the  self-contradictions,  which  a  rigorous 
analysis  shows  the  inductive  truths  to  contain,  the  perfect 
truth  can  ultimately  be  reached.  This  mode  of  procedure 
he  called  '  dialectic/ 

Ethics  as  an  Empirical  Science.  —  Ethics  is  the  oldest 
science  to  which  inductive  methods  have  been  consciously 
and  deliberately  applied.  Inductive  reasoning  has,  of  course, 
been  employed  since  men  were  men.  But  so  far  as  we  know, 
Socrates  (who  was  one  of  the  founders  of  moral  science) 
was  the  first  to  employ  it  with  a  distinct  conception  of  its 
nature;  and  ethics  (including  political  theory)  was  almost 
the  sole  field  in  which  he  was  interested.  According  to  him 
the  object  of  scientific  inquiry  was  to  frame  clear  and  consist- 
ent definitions;  for  example,  definitions  of  justice,  courage, 
piety,  and  the  like.  Taking  any  proposed  definition  as  a 
starting-point,  his  practice  was  to  question  the  one  who  had 
offered  it,  with  regard  to  border-line  instances,  which  would 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS  15 

serve  to  show  wherein  the  definition  was  too  narrow  or  too 
broad  —  where  it  failed  to  include  what  the  given  term  was 
obviously  meant  to  cover,  and  where  it  actually  included 
cases  to  which  the  term  would  never  be  applied.  As  each 
exception  was  pointed  out,  the  interlocutor  was  invited  to 
revise  his  definition  accordingly,  the  hope  being  that  a 
satisfactory  form  might  thus  ultimately  be  given  to  it.  Or- 
dinarily, however,  this  was  not  accomplished,  and  the  inter- 
locutor gave  up  the  task  in  despair.  The  inquiry  was  then 
either  dropped  or  continued  in  a  deductive  fashion  —  starting 
from  commonly  accepted  premises  which  both  parties  were 
willing  to  admit  as  probably  true,  and  leading  up  to  the  matter 
in  hand.  It  is,  however,  to  the  first  (inductive)  part  of  the 
inquiry,  with  its  generally  negative  conclusion,  that  the  term 
'  Socratic  method  '  is  strictly  applied ;  and  it  is  obviously 
to  this  method  of  procedure  that  he  mainly  trusted  for  the 
improvement  of  his  own  insight  as  well  as  for  the  real  instruc- 
tion of  his  companions. 

It  might  be  supposed,  therefore,  that  ethics  would  be  re- 
garded as  the  inductive  science  par  excellence,  and  its  later 
history  throughout  antiquity  would  tend  to  confirm  this 
impression.  Plato,  indeed,  looked  forward  to  the  construc- 
tion of  a  purely  deductive  ethics  as  one  of  the  great  desiderata 
of  philosophy.  But  his  own  speculation  in  this  field  was 
mainly  inductive ;  and  the  literary  expression  of  his  results 
is  in  the  form  of  Socratic  dialogues.  With  his  great  pupil 
Aristotle,  ethics  is  again  confessedly  an  inductive  science. 
"  We  must  start,"  he  says,  "  from  the  known.  But  this 
may  mean  either  of  two  distinct  things :  '  what  is  known  to 
us '  [i.e.  the  data  of  experience],  or,  '  what  is  certain  ' 
[i.e.  the  truths  of  intuition].  It  is  clear  that  it  is  for  us  to 
start  from  what  is  known  to  us."  Accordingly  Aristotle  is 
careful  to  call  attention  to  the  merely  approximate  truth  and 
the  '  practical '  value  of  ethical  principles.  In  fact,  of  all 
the  ancient  ethicists,  the  only  ones  to  rely  to  any  great 


16    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

extent  upon  mere  deduction  were  the  cynics  and  stoics; 
and,  as  we  shall  hereafter  see,  even  in  their  case  the  most 
interesting  part  of  the  theory  is  largely  inductive. 

Rationalistic  Ethics.  —  In  modern  times,  however,  a  very 
strong  tendency  has  shown  itself,  to  distrust  and  avoid  the 
use  of  induction  in  ethics,  as  if  it  were  somehow  unworthy 
of  the  subject.  Especially  among  ethicists  who  give  promi- 
nence to  the  impersonal  standards  of  duty,  it  has  been  felt 
that  the  validity  of  moral  standards  must  be  absolutely 
certain  and  unconditional ;  and  induction,  it  seemed,  could 
never  vindicate  for  them  more  than  a  merely  relative  force. 
So  the  attempt  has  repeatedly  been  made  to  give  ethics  a  purely 
deductive  form,  and,  especially,  to  find  a  body  of  self-evident 
truths  from  which  the  whole  moral  law  could  be  clearly 
demonstrated.  The  intuitionalist,  for  example,  looks  upon 
the  fundamental  moral  laws  as  so  many  axioms,  precisely 
like  the  axioms  of  geometry,  the  absolute  cogency  of  which 
cannot  be  doubted  by  any  man  who  understands  the  terms 
in  which  they  are  expressed.  Upon  these  axioms,  a  system 
of  morals,  like  another  geometry,  must  be  built  up ;  and  the 
conclusions  that  are  reached  may  be  applied  in  common  life 
with  the  same  assurance  as  a  demonstrated  theorem  of  Euclid. 
It  has  not  been  uncommon  for  philosophers  who  exhibited 
in  the  main  an  empiricistic  tendency,  to  insist  that  ethics, 
like  mathematics,  is  (or  can  be  made)  a  purely  deductive 
science.1 

The  Genetic  Method.  —  Since  the  middle  of  the  eight- 
eenth century  a  modification  of  the  inductive  method  has 
been  perfected,  which  during  the  last  fifty  years  has  become 

1  The  so-called  '  critical  method '  of  Kant  is  not  a  distinct  method  of  the 
same  order  as  induction  and  deduction.  It  consists  (so  far  as  ethics  is  con- 
cerned) in  a  deductive  analysis  of  what  is  implied  in  the  mere  supposition  that 
absolute  moral  laws  exist.  Kant  tries  to  show  that  the  whole  system  of  ethics 
can  be  derived  from  this  one  supposition,  which  (as  he  further  believes)  no 
rational  being  can  avoid  making.  A  dialectic  method,  similar  to  that  ad- 
vocated by  Plato,  has  been  attempted  in  modern  times,  notably  by  Hegel. 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS  17 

increasingly  important  for  ethics.  This  is  the  genetic  method 
of  analysis.  In  general  terms  the  method  may  be  described 
as  follows.  The  key  to  the  structure  and  functions  of  any 
complex  organic  or  social  type  is  to  be  found  in  its  past. 
What  appears  to  be  inextricably  confused  in  the  later  form 
becomes  simple  and  distinct  in  the  earlier ;  and  by  following 
the  development  step  by  step  the  later  confusion  can  be  re- 
duced to  an  orderly  plan.  The  circumstances  of  each  change, 
if  these  can  be  ascertained,  are  an  indication  of  its  meaning 
and  importance.  For  every  organism  or  organization  stands 
in  constant  dependence  upon  its  environment ;  and  its  whole 
development  is  subject  to  the  necessity  of  readjustment  to 
meet  altered  conditions  in  the  environment. 

Its  Application  to  Ethics.  —  As  applied  to  ethics,  this 
means  that  the  morality  of  the  adult  is  to  be  explained  by 
reference  to  the  morality  of  the  growing  child;  that  the 
morality  of  civilized  races  is  to  be  explained  by  reference  to 
the  customs  and  ideals  of  their  ruder  ancestors,  as  well  as  of 
other  peoples  by  whom  these  were  in  any  degree  affected. 
Thus,  if  the  problem  were  to  explain  the  moral  obligations  of 
the  modern  European  husband,  most  ethicists  would  not  be 
content  to  ascribe  them  to  the  outcropping  of  an  innate  human 
sense  for  the  requirements  of  the  marriage  relation.  We 
should  rather  attempt  to  trace  their  development  from  the 
days  when  the  wife  was  but  a  piece  of  property  transferable 
at  will  —  yes,  further  back,  if  it  were  possible,  to  the  time 
when  mutual  affection  and  helpfulness  and  common  attach- 
ment to  the  dependent  offspring  were  the  sole  bonds  between 
the  ape-like  human  pair.  Or,  to  take  a  narrower  instance, 
if  we  were  asked  to  account  for  the  prohibition-sentiment 
in  this  country,  we  should  not  be  apt  to  attribute  it  to  the 
force  of  an  innate  human  conviction  that  the  use  of  intoxi- 
cating beverages  is  wrong.  We  should  more  probably  at- 
tempt to  trace  its  rise  from  the  time  when  it  was  a  mark  of 
sobriety  in  a  man  to  get  drunk  but  half-a-dozen  times  a  year, 


18    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

or  even  from  the  time  when  nightly  drunkenness  was  looked 
forward  to  as  one  of  the  future  rewards  of  the  brave  and  just. 
The  purpose  in  these  inquiries  would  not  be  the  learning  of 
an  interesting  story.  It  would  be  the  more  thorough  analysis 
and  understanding  of  the  present  moral  consciousness  itself y — to 
perceive,  for  example,  how  much  of  it  (if  any)  was  instinc- 
tive, how  much  cultivated  benevolence,  how  much  respect  for 
custom,  how  much  prudential  regard  for  economic  conditions, 
how  much  religious  feeling.  For  all  these  things  and  many 
more  may  be  included  in  an  apparently  simple  '  ought '  — 
or  so  the  ethicists  of  to-day  generally  believe.1 

Use  of  Ethnological  Material.  —  The  application  of  the 
genetic  method  to  ethics  would  be  a  simpler  matter,  if  our 
records  of  old  moral  standards  and  of  the  ways  in  which  men 
viewed  them  were  more  complete.  Not  that  we  need  a  uni- 
versal history  of  mankind ;  much  less  than  that  would  make 
an  ample  basis  for  all  our  theorizing.  But  even  in  the  case 
of  the  peoples  of  whom  we  know  most,  our  information 
dwindles  away  rapidly  as  we  go  back  of  the  period  of  the  in- 
vention of  writing.  There  are,  to  be  sure,  records  of  oral 

1  Attention  must  here  be  called  to  a  serious  and  widespread  error  concern- 
ing the  use  of  the  genetic  method.  It  is  the  supposition  that  by  this  method 
the  developed  form  is  explained  in  terms  of  its  origin,  in  the  sense  of  the 
original  simple  form  from  which  it  has  sprung.  Sometimes  the  assertion  is 
even  made,  that  since  an  absolute  beginning  can  never  be  exhibited,  the 
genetic  method  cannot  really  explain  anything.  Now  the  fact  is,  as  we 
shall  quickly  show,  that  the  use  of  the  genetic  method  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  notion  of  an  absolute  beginning.  Many  of  its  ablest  exponents  would 
question  whether  any  beginnings  are  ever  absolute  and  would  incline  to  the 
opinion  that  they  are  merely  arbitrary  and  conventional  assumptions  of 
ours.  It  is  true  that  the  earlier  stages  of  a  development,  as  compared  with 
the  later  stages,  have  a  peculiar  value  for  the  method ;  but  they  have  not 
a  greater  value.  And  if  a  choice  were  to  be  made,  it  is  the  later  stages  — 
those  more  closely  resembling  the  form  that  is  to  be  analyzed  —  that  would 
have  the  preference. 

Suppose,  for  example,  it  is  the  adult  human  brain  that  is  to  be  analyzed. 
This  is  an  organ  of  such  extreme  complexity,  that,  to  a  direct  examination, 
it  is  utterly  baffling.  How  does  the  anatomist  proceed  ?  In  the  first  place, 
he  arranges  in  an  ordered  series  the  brains  of  many  other  vertebrates,  from 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS  19 

traditions  which  date  from  earlier  centuries.  But  such 
traditions  may  become  so  seriously  modified  in  the  course  of 
time,  and  so  encrusted  over  with  later  material,  as  to  be  rec- 
ognized only  with  great  difficulty  and  uncertainty.  Now 
the  period  before  the  invention  of  writing  is  of  immense 
importance  for  genetic  study.  We  are  fortunate,  therefore, 
in  being  able  to  supplement  our  records  by  a  comparison  with 
the  savage  and  barbarous  peoples  that  still  exist  —  just  as 
the  paleontologist  pieces  out  the  geological  record  of  the  ex- 
tinct forms  of  life  upon  the  earth,  by  noting  the  survivals  of 
the  old  types  which  still,  in  one  place  or  another,  have  man- 
aged to  persist.  Much  caution  is  of  course  necessary.  It  is 
not  as  if,  while  our  race  was  steadily  progressing,  these  sim- 
pler peoples  were  retaining  unchanged  the  beliefs  and  prac- 
tices of  their  ancestors  —  though  at  the  same  time  it  must 
not  be  supposed  that  social  changes  go  on  everywhere  at 
anything  like  the  same  rate.  But  by  a  careful  comparison 
it  is  possible  in  many  cases  to  show  important  analogies  be- 
tween the  morality  of  the  backward  peoples  and  our  own 

the  lowest  fishes  to  the  anthropoid  apes,  which,  on  various  grounds,  he  sup- 
poses may  preserve  the  traits  of  man's  ancestors.  The  brain  of  the  chim- 
panzee is  like  a  map  of  the  human  brain ;  the  brain  of  the  fish  is  like  a  sche- 
matic diagram.  Starting  from  the  latter,  and  running  his  eye  along  the  series, 
he  sees  the  baffling  complexity  of  the  human  brain  sort  itself  out  before  him. 
In  the  second  place,  he  examines  the  brains  of  human  embryos  of  every 
stage ;  and  here  again,  as  he  passes  from  the  simpler  to  the  more  complex, 
if  he  can  but  follow  the  dividing  strands  of  the  development,  the  problem  of 
analysis  is  well  advanced  toward  its  solution.  But  the  fish  or  the  fish-like 
embryo,  taken  by  itself,  would  be  of  very  limited  significance.  The  anato- 
mist could  learn  something  from  it ;  but  it  would  be  of  a  very  superficial  and 
uncertain  sort.  It  is  the  development  that  is  instructive ;  and  it  is  the  more 
instructive,  the  fewer  and  slighter  are  the  gaps  in  the  record,  and  the  farther 
back  it  can  be  extended.  But,  when  they  are  taken  by  themselves,  one 
chimpanzee  is  worth  a  thousand  fishes. 

Similarly,  if  it  is  the  vocabulary  of  the  English  language  that  is  studied, 
it  is  important  to  trace  it  to  its  Latin,  Anglo-Saxon,  and  other  sources.  For 
a  scientific  knowledge  of  the  English  of  to-day,  a  knowledge  of  Latin  is  in- 
dispensable. But,  taken  by  itself,  it  is  sufficient  only  to  give  one  a  super- 
ficial and  dangerous  conceit  of  knowledge. 


20    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

primitive  morality,  and  by  more  or  less  probable  surmises 
to  extend  the  historical  record  back  far  beyond  the  time 
when  all  direct  evidences  cease. 

Survivals  of  Barbarism  in  Civilization.  —  Moreover,  the 
survivals  of  old  culture  are  not  simply  to  be  found  among  the 
backward  peoples.  They  are  present  in  ourselves.  Consider, 
for  example,  the  way  in  which  the  young  girl  is  commonly 
taught  to  regard  her  chastity  —  as  a  precious  possession 
which  once  lost  can  never  be  regained ;  as  a  kind  of  purity 
which,  once  contaminated,  can  never  be  restored  to  its  former 
state.  There  is  a  certain  amount  of  truth,  no  doubt,  in  these 
old  conceptions ;  and  yet  at  times  they  are  brought  into  the 
most  violent  conflict  with  higher  and  better  views.  That  a 
single  slip  on  the  part  of  an  unprotected  and  sorely  tempted 
girl  may  doom  her,  in  her  own  eyes  as  well  as  in  those  of 
the  whole  community,  to  a  lifelong  degradation,  is  barba- 
rism pure  and  simple.  And  it  may  help  us  to  under- 
stand how  our  barbarian  forbears  felt  about  many  other 
matters. 

The  Morality  of  Childhood.  —  Finally,  the  two  genetic 
series,  the  development  of  the  individual  and  the  develop- 
ment of  society,  may  be  expected  to  illuminate  each  other 
at  many  points.  Up  to  the  present  time,  however,  childish 
morality  has  been  very  inadequately  studied.  The  practical 
problems  of  moral  education  have,  indeed,  received  the  atten- 
tion of  many  of  the  greatest  and  noblest  thinkers.  But  the 
more  fundamental  theoretical  problem  of  distinguishing  the 
characteristic  childish  ways  of  thinking  and  feeling  about 
moral  distinctions  is  still  in  a  very  unsatisfactory  condition. 
Less  help,  therefore,  can  be  derived  from  this  source  than  the 
ethicist  would  wish. 

Value  of  the  Genetic  Method.  —  The  genetic  study  of 
morality  has  not  made  the  older  direct  methods  superfluous 
—  if  only  because  it  is  always  in  terms  of  the  inner  life  of 
to-day  that  the  records  of  the  past  must  be  interpreted.  This 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS  21 

fact  has  been  used  by  thinkers  of  conservative  tendencies  to 
discredit  the  value  of  genetic  studies.  If  the  study  of  our 
own  morality  must  give  us  the  terms  in  which  to  understand 
that  of  primitive  man,  how  can  the  knowledge  of  the  latter 
help  us  to  interpret  the  former?  Is  not  the  whole  genetic 
procedure  a  vicious  circle  ?  But,  after  all,  the  case  is  much 
the  same  as  with  our  understanding  of  one  another.  No 
one  of  us  can  see  directly  into  another's  heart.  We  must 
interpret  one  another's  words,  actions,  gestures,  in  terms  of 
what  we  ourselves  have  thought  and  felt.  Nevertheless 
we  know  that  a  richer  self-knowledge  is  thus  gained.  The 
wise  saying  of  Schiller  applies  without  modification  to  the 
study  of  primitive  man : 

"  Wouldst  thou  thyself  discern,  then  see  how  the  others  are  living. 
Wouldst  thou  the  others  know  —  look  into  thine  own  heart.'' 

Moral  Dynamics.  —  One  result  of  the  genetic  study  of 
morality  has  been  to  bring  into  prominence  a  new  set  of  ethical 
problems,  concerned  with  the  discovery  of  the  factors  of  moral 
evolution  and  the  laws  of  their  operation.  These  problems 
bring  our  attention  forcibly  back  to  the  direct  analysis  of 
our  own  moral  consciousness.  Historical  records  at  the  best 
are  disconnected.  It  is  hard  to  catch  in  the  act  the  most 
important  changes.  Their  significance  was  not  fully  felt 
at  the  time,  and  their  gradual  stages  passed  unnoticed. 
Moral  dynamics  can  be  studied  to  the  greatest  advantage 
in  the  present  or  in  the  very  recent  past.  Our  own  day  is 
one  of  rapid  moral  changes.  The  social  and  economic  trans- 
formations brought  about  by  the  varied  utilization  of  steam 
and  electricity  and  by  the  rise  of  the  corporation  of  limited 
liabilities  are  having  their  inevitable  effect  upon  traditional 
standards  of  right  and  wrong.  Never  was  there  a  time  when 
the  ethicist  could  study  to  better  advantage  the  phenomena 
of  moral  progress.  The  civilized  world  has  become  a  veri- 
table laboratory 'for  his  use. 


22    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

REFERENCES 

ARISTOTLE,  Nichomachean  Ethics,  Book  I,  Chs.  I-IV. 
WUNDT,  W.,  Ethics,  Introduction. 

SETH,  J.,  A  Study  of  Ethical  Principles,  Introduction,  Ch.  I. 
TAYLOR,  A.  E.,  The  Problem  of  Conduct,  Ch.  I. 
LEVY-BRUHL,  L.,  Ethics  and  Moral  Science. 
STEPHEN,  L.,  Science  of  Ethics,  Ch.  I. 
HOBHOUSE,  L.  T.,  Morals  in  Evolution,  Part  I,  Ch.  I. 
DEWEY,  J.,  The  Evolutionary  Method  as  applied  to  Morality,  Philo- 
sophical Review,  1902,  pp.  107-124,  353-371. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FIELD  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENTS 

I.  CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT 

Order  of  Procedure.  —  When  one  attempts  a  systematic 
account  of  so  complex  a  matter  as  morality,  it  is  not  easy  to 
find  a  natural  order  of  procedure.  On  every  page  one  finds 
oneself  taking  for  granted  positions  which  are  justified  only 
on  some  later  page;  and  when  the  attempt  is  made  to  re- 
verse the  order  of  exposition,  no  improvement  is  effected. 
In  the  case  of  ethics  a  partial  remedy  for  this  difficulty  lies 
in  the  fact  that  the  reader  knows  a  good  deal  about  morality 
already,  if  only  in  an  uncritical,  common-sense  fashion ;  so 
that  except  where  our  own  conclusions  fly  in  the  face  of  com- 
mon sense,  we  can  presume  upon  this  prior  knowledge.  The 
difficulty  is  greatest  where  we  touch  on  questions  upon  which 
a  wide  difference  of  opinion  exists.  Here  we  must  (until 
we  have  had  tune  to  discuss  these  questions  on  our  own  ac- 
count) adopt  a  middle-of-the-road  policy,  expressing  our- 
selves in  ways  that  will  not  be  grossly  inconsistent  with  any 
of  the  more  important  theories.  And  we  shall  be  the  more 
justified  in  this  course,  because,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  there 
is  reason  to  think  that  in  none  of  the  great  ethical  con- 
troversies has  any  side  been  wholly  right  or  wholly  wrong. 

The  Study  of  Moral  Judgments.  —  One  of  the  oldest  and 
most  persistent  grounds  of  difference  has  been  the  question 
whether  morality  is  essentially  (or  predominantly)  a  matter 
of  feeling  or  a  matter  of  judgment.  In  the  following  chapters 
we  shall  take  for  granted  that  both  feeling  and  judgment  are 
essential,  and  easily  and  quickly  pass  into  each  other,  though 
at  any  given  time  either  may  operate  without  the  other. 

23 


24    INTRODUCTION  TO   THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Because  the  moral  judgment  is,  in  general,  clearer  and 
steadier  than  the  feeling,  and  hence  more  readily  referred  to, 
we  shall  for  the  most  part  (where  it  does  not  matter  other- 
wise) speak  in  terms  of  the  judgment. 

The  Question  before  Us.  —  The  study  of  moral  judgments 
involves  two  main  questions :  first,  What  is  the  field  within 
which  we  employ  them,  or  to  what  kinds  of  things  do  they 
apply?  and,  secondly,  What  is  their  significance,  or  how  do 
we  intend  to  characterize  the  things  to  which  we  apply  them  ? 
In  logical  terms,  we  need  an  account  of  the  subjects  and  the 
predicates  of  these  judgments.  The  present  chapter  will 
try  to  furnish  an  answer  to  the  first  question,  so  far  as  it  can 
be  done  without  anticipating  our  answer  to  the  second  — 
or,  at  least,  without  anticipating  it  any  farther  than  common 
sense  will  authorize  us  in  doing. 

General  Answer.  —  In  a  general  way  the  answer  which 
we  seek  is  obvious  enough.  Moral  judgments  apply  to  char- 
acter and  to  conduct.  We  may,  perhaps,  go  farther  and  say 
that  they  apply  to  character  as  it  shows  itself  in  conduct,  and 
to  conduct  as  it  springs  from  the  agent's  character;  but  this 
will  need  some  justification. 

Objections  :  (1)  In  the  first  place,  it  may  be  objected  that 
character  may  be  good  or  bad  without  showing  itself  in  con- 
duct ;  just  as  a  talent  may  slumber  in  obscurity  and  be  none 
the  less  real  for  that.  Suppose  a  brave  man  dwelling  in  the 
midst  of  perfect  security,  or  a  man  with  the  heart  of  a  tyrant 
born  to  the  life  of  a  slave.  Opportunity  may  give  him  the 
chance  to  exhibit  his  true  self  in  action ;  but,  if  not,  is  not  the 
one  still  brave  and  the  other  still  tyrannical  ? 

Suppose  we  admit  this  —  though  we  shall  soon  find  that 
the  admission  means  less  than  at  first  sight  appears.  Never- 
theless it  remains  true,  that  if  we  are  to  judge  of  a  man's 
character,  his  conduct  must  ever  be  our  surest  evidence; 
and  this  holds,  even  of  ourselves.  There  are  secondary 
indications,  to  be  sure :  features  and  tones  of  voice,  and  (in 


THE  FIELD  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENTS  25 

our  own  case)  feelings  and  opinions  in  plenty.  But,  after  all, 
"  the  tree  is  known  by  its  fruits."  Experience  has  shown  us 
only  too  well  that  a  benevolent  countenance  may  be  the  mask 
of  cruelty,  and  that  nothing  is  more  deceptive  than  the  fine 
feelings  in  which  we  luxuriate  without  putting  them  into  ef- 
fect. If  there  is  actionless  virtue,  it  is  an  unknown  quantity 
—  what  the  philosopher  calls  a  '  thing-in-itself.'  However, 
we  must  beware  of  taking  the  term  '  conduct '  too  narrowly. 
The  crouch  must  be  counted  as  well  as  the  spring.  A  good 
part  of  conduct  consists  in  preparing  ourselves  for  future 
contingencies,  in  assuming  attitudes  upon  various  issues; 
and  this  sort  of  conduct  is  observable  both  in  ourselves  and  in 
others.  "  Thou  shalt  not  covet  "  may  be  kept  or  broken  as 
clearly  as  "  Thou  shalt  not  steal. " 

(2)  In  the  second  place,  it  may  be  said  that  conduct  may 
be  right  or  wrong  in  itself,  wholly  apart  from  the  character 
that  prompts  it.  A  gift  of  money  to  the  poor  may  spring 
from  charity  or  from  hypocrisy ;  but  in  either  case  is  not  the 
act  itself  right?  Would  you  feel  warranted  in  advising  the 
giver  to  withhold  his  gift?  Again,  if  the  act  were  a  theft, 
would  you  stop  to  inquire  what  the  agent's  motives  were 
before  pronouncing  it  wrong?  What  if  it  were  an  act  of 
sacrilege  or  treason? 

There  are  at  least  two  distinct  misunderstandings  involved 
in  this  objection.  It  should  be  remembered  that  it  is  through 
men's  conduct  that  we  judge  of  their  character;  and  this 
has  to  be  done,  more  or  less,  by  general  rules.  Now  there 
are  some  deeds  that  we  commonly  condemn  on  sight,  without 
reflection.  In  such  cases  we  need  not  stop  to  inquire  about 
motives,  because  the  conduct  itself  is  warrant  for  attributing 
an  evil  character  to  the  agent.  But  so  far  from  its  being 
true  that  we  judge  the  act  and  not  the  man,  we  are  very 
apt  to  judge  the  man  too  harshly.  We  dub  the  man  who  has 
committed  a  single  theft  a  '  thief/  and  that  may  be  a  cruel 
exaggeration. 


26    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

But  the  other  misunderstanding  is  more  serious.  It  con- 
sists in  picking  out  a  single  act  from  the  course  of  conduct  of 
which  it  is  a  part,  and  insisting  that  there  is  nothing  wrong 
with  it,  in  itself.  As  well  pick  a  single  phrase  out  of  an  in- 
correct sentence,  and  say :  "Is  there  anything  intrinsically 
wrong  in  this?  "  The  hypocritical  gift  does  not  stand  by 
itself.  It  belongs  to  a  general  policy.  To  say  that  it 
is  right  as  far  as  it  goes  means  only  that  the  wrongness 
lies  elsewhere;  and  it  is  far  from  justifying  the  inference, 
that  conduct  may  be  judged  one  way  and  character  the 
other. 

Restatement.  —  What  we  suggested  may,  therefore,  be 
affirmed  with  some  confidence;  namely,  that  moral  judg- 
ments apply  to  character  and  conduct  simultaneously,  though 
with  varying  emphasis  upon  the  one  or  the  other.  Men  are 
such  as  their  deeds  declare  them ;  and  to  judge  a  deed  is  to 
judge  the  character  of  him  who  would  commit  it. 

II.  THE  MORAL  AGENT 

Capacity  for  Deliberation  and  Self-judgment.  —  But  who 
are  the  men,  and  what  are  the  deeds,  that  we  judge?  The 
men  are  obviously  those  whom  we  regard  as  capable  of  some 
deliberation.  The  baby,  who  acts  from  sheer  impulse,  upon 
the  latest  suggestion  that  has  entered  his  head,  we  do  not 
think  of  judging  morally.  We  call  it  a  '  good  '  or  a  '  bad ' 
baby,  but  that  means  no  more  than  '  comfortable '  or 
'  troublesome/  Similarly  with  the  grossly  imbecile  and  the 
insane :  we  do  not  count  them  as  moral  agents.  But  a  ca- 
pacity for  deliberation  is  not  enough.  The  good  or  bad  man 
must  be  capable  of  passing  a  moral  judgment  upon  his  own 
acts.  This  is  probably  why  we  do  not  regard  as  moral  agents 
even  the  highest  of  the  lower  animals.  For  though  scientists 
believe  that  they  are  almost  entirely  incapable  of  delibera- 
tion, this  is  not  the  popular  opinion ;  but  few  men  have  been 
willing  to  accredit  them  with  a  moral  faculty.  The  utmost 


THE  FIELD  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENTS  27 

that  even  their  good  friend  Darwin  could  say  was  that  "  dogs 
have  something  very  like  a  conscience."  On  the  other  hand,  as 
we  are  very  apt  to  attribute  to  little  children  thoughts  and 
feelings  like  our  own,  we  are  inclined  to  pass  moral  judg- 
ments on  them  from  a  very  early  age. 

Moral  Judgments  on  Animals  and  Things  among  Savages. 
—  Here  it  may  be  objected,  that  while  we  may  limit  our 
moral  judgments  in  this  way,  all  men  are  not  in  accord  with 
us.  Many  peoples  have  pronounced  moral  judgments  freely 
upon  animals  and  even  upon  inanimate  objects.  The  savage 
is  righteously  indignant  at  the  cocoanut  which  falls  upon  his 
head  and  thinks  it  treachery  in  the  spear  that  it  fails  to  strike 
the  game;  and  he  punishes  them  accordingly.  If  a  tiger 
has  killed  his  near  kinsman,  he  seeks  it  out  and  compasses 
its  death  with  as  strong  a  sense  of  duty  as  if  it  were  a  human 
criminal.  But  this  is  because  the  savage  does  not  draw  the 
line  between  rational  and  irrational  or  unconscious  beings,  as 
we  do.  He  thinks  of  the  offending  cocoanut  either  as  alive 
and  spiteful,  or,  at  least,  as  harboring  a  malicious  sprite, 
whom  he  tries  to  reach ;  while  the  animals  are  regarded  as 
being  in  all  essential  respects  like  men.  Properly  viewed, 
therefore,  there  is  here  rather  a  confirmation  than  a  contra- 
diction of  the  view  expressed  above. 

Similar  Phenomena  among  More  Advanced  Peoples.  — 
It  may  still,  however,  be  said  that  among  many  peoples  far 
removed  from  primitive  savagery  the  legal  punishment  of 
animals  and  inanimate  things  for  murder  has  been  kept  up 
for  a  long  time.  Athens  had  a  special  court  for  such  cases ; 
and  the  great  Plato  in  his  model  code  of  laws  gave  it  his 
indorsement  (Laws,  873  E-874  A).  The  man-slaying  ani- 
mal was  killed,  and  either  animal  or  thing  was  thrown 
outside  the  borders.  By  the  early  Hebrew  law,  "If  an  ox 
gore  a  man  or  woman  to  death,  the  ox  shall  be  surely  stoned 
[like  a  man  that  had  committed  a  foul  crime]  and  its  flesh 
shall  not  be  eaten."  (Exodus  xxi.  28.)  Similar  practices 


28    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

were  found  in  Europe  in  the  middle  ages,  and  vestiges  of  them 
remained  down  to  the  nineteenth  century. 

Explanation.  —  But  here  there  are  evidently  several  fac- 
tors involved.  In  the  first  place,  legal  forms  are  wonder- 
fully tenacious,  and  are  often  preserved  when  they  lead  to 
consequences  that  are  generally  acknowledged  to  be  fool- 
ish or  positively  harmful.  Our  own  legal  procedure  is  no- 
toriously full  of  instances.  In  the  second  place,  the  '  punish- 
ment '  may  be  a  precautionary  measure.  It  may  prevent 
the  repetition  of  a  real  danger.  And  where  there  is  no  real 
danger  (as  in  the  case  of  a  knife  that  has  fallen  on  a  man), 
superstition  readily  imagines  one.  Bad  magic  or  ill  luck 
may  attach  to  it.  The  shedding  of  human  blood  is  especially 
thought  of  as  causing  a  pollution  that  must  be  removed. 
That  is  why  the  Athenians  '  banished '  the  fatal  thing  or  the 
carcass  of  the  fatal  animal;  and  that  is  why  the  Hebrews 
were  forbidden  to  eat  the  murderous  ox.  Or  an  accidental 
death  may  be  supposed  to  indicate  some  divine  displeasure. 
So  the  English  law  of  the  deodand  (repealed  only  in  1846) 
directed  that  a  thing  which  had  caused  a  man's  death  should 
be  confiscated  and  sold  for  charity,  in  order  that  God's  wrath 
might  be  appeased  —  though  the  innocent  owner  might 
thereby  suffer  a  ruinous  loss.  Here  again  the  legal  practice 
long  outlived  the  superstition.  In  the  third  place,  though 
we  may  no  longer  judge  animals  or  things  as  we  should 
moral  beings,  we  are  quite  capable  of  being  angry  with  them, 
and  even  of  hating  them.  And  so,  unless  we  are  unusually 
enlightened,  we  like  to  vent  our  ill  feeling  on  the  thing  that 
has  deeply  hurt  us.  Finally,  even  though  we  may  cherish 
no  ill  feeling,  we  like  to  have  a  thing  to  which  evil  associa- 
tions cling  put  out  of  the  way. 

We  have,  therefore,  no  reason  to  infer  that  any  moral 
judgment  is  involved  in  the  matter,  or  to  suppose  that  such  a 
judgment  is  ever  passed  except  upon  agents  who  are  conceived 
to  possess  the  power  of  deliberation  and  moral  judgment. 


THE  FIELD  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENTS  29 

III.  EXTENT  OF  MORAL  CONDUCT 

Moral  Conduct  is  Voluntary.  —  The  conduct  that  we 
judge  must,  if  it  springs  from  the  agent's  character,  be 
voluntary  —  at  least  in  the  sense  that  his  body  must  not  be 
the  helpless  tool  of  a  superior  power.  Ordinarily,  we  may 
add  that  the  agent  must  not  be  coerced  by  intense  pain  or 
fear ;  for  except  under  special  mental  conditions  —  say  the 
enthusiasm  of  an  heroic  purpose  —  pain  or  fear  may  move 
our  limbs  as  irresistibly  as  any  external  force,  and  so  we 
do  not  blame  a  man  for  what  he  does  under  such  circum- 
stances. 

Deliberate  and  Unreflecting  Acts.  —  From  what  has  been 
said  above  we  may  infer  that  the  conduct  that  is  open  to 
moral  judgment  consists  primarily  of  deliberate  acts,  and 
especially  of  acts  which  the  agents  themselves  are  thought 
to  have  judged;  for  except  for  these  we  should  not  regard 
the  agents  as  moral  beings  at  all.  But  we  do  not  stop  here. 
If  the  man  is  capable  of  deliberation  and  moral  judgment, 
he  need  not  show  his  capacity  in  each  and  every  case.  We 
freely  approve  or  disapprove  his  most  unreflecting  acts. 
The  very  fact  that  a  man  did  not  stop  to  reflect  may  exhibit 
him  to  us  all  the  more  vividly  as  a  hero  or  as  a  villain.  How 
is  this  to  be  accounted  for?  The  explanation  comes  to  us 
from  Aristotle.  Our  unreflective  actions  are  (generally 
speaking)  the  result  of  habit.  But  our  habits  are  formed  by 
acts  which  in  the  first  instance  are  more  or  less  deliberate,  — 
as  the  trite  example  of  learning  to  play  a  piece  of  music  suffi- 
ciently illustrates.  Our  habitual  conduct  is  thus,  to  a  large 
extent,  what  our  deliberate  conduct  has  made  it.  Conse- 
quently, habitual  conduct  is  indirectly  subject  to  moral 
judgment  as  being  an  evidence  of  what  deliberate  conduct 
has  been,  and  hence  of  what  the  agent's  character  was  and  is. 

Conduct  preceded  by  a  Moral  Judgment.  —  We  may  add 
to  this  that  conduct  which  is  preceded  by  a  moral  judgment 


30    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

as  to  the  Tightness  or  wrongness  of  the  contemplated  course 
of  action  has  an  especially  important  part  in  the  shaping 
of  character  and  of  future  conduct,  and  may  well  be  con- 
sidered as  the  moral  conduct  par  excellence.  Many  ethicists, 
ancient  and  modern,  have  even  held  that  no  act  is  morally 
good,  if  it  is  done  for  any  other  reason  than  that  it  is  the 
right  thing  to  do;  and  in  modern  times  Immanuel  Kant 
insisted  that  if  there  is  the  least  admixture  of  any  other  motive, 
—  say  love  for  one's  friend  or  country,  —  the  act  loses  all 
its  moral  worth.  This  last  view  may  be  set  aside  as  an  ex- 
aggeration ;  and,  indeed,  Kant  himself  admitted  that  on  his 
theory  we  should  have  no  logical  ground  for  believing  that 
an  act  with  any  degree  of  goodness  at  all  had  ever  been 
committed. 

Summary.  —  If  we  reflect  how  our  conduct  upon  one  occa- 
sion helps  to  determine  how  we  shall  behave  upon  another 
occasion,  we  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  seeing  that  almost 
all  our  voluntary  conduct  is,  directly  or  indirectly,  open 
to  praise  or  blame :  first,  acts  that  are  accompanied  by  a 
moral  judgment;  next,  deliberate  acts  in  general;  and 
finally,  habitual  acts.  If  there  are  any  exceptions,  they  must 
spring  from  original  instincts  that  have  been  unreached  by 
conscious  control ;  and  in  the  well-grown  child,  not  to  speak 
of  the  adult  man,  such  acts  are  of  very  slight  importance. 

The  Correction  of  Habits.  —  There  is  another  side  of 
the  matter,  of  which  we  must  also  take  account.  We  fre- 
quently judge  habitual  acts  in  this  sense,  that  we  hold  that 
the  habits  which  they  exhibit  ought  to  be  corrected.  (Less  im- 
portant are  the  favorable  judgments,  that  the  habits  need  no 
correction.)  The  habits  are  wrong,  we  say ;  and  this  means, 
not  so  much  that  they  have  been  wrongly  incurred,  as  that 
the  agent  would  do  wrong  to  continue  to  indulge  them.  The 
judgment  thus  looks  forward,  rather  than  back.  But  it 
equally  involves  an  indirect  moral  judgment  upon  deliberate, 
morally  controlled  acts ;  namely,  the  acts  by  which  the  habits 


THE  FIELD  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENTS  31 

in  question  are  conceived  to  be  corrected  or  tolerated.  This 
sort  of  judgment  is  particularly  important,  as  it  is  a  means 
by  which  we  call  men's  attention  to  their  evil  habits  and  thus, 
perhaps,  bring  about  their  correction.  When  we  have  de- 
clared to  a  man  that  one  of  his  habits  is  wrong,  it  is  no  longer 
a  mere  habit,  but  a  habit  which  has  been  brought  before  his 
own  moral  judgment ;  and  his  later  persistence  in  such  con- 
duct must  be  judged  accordingly. 

Morally  Indifferent  Conduct.  —  It  should  be  observed  that 
the  fact  that  almost  all  our  conduct  is  open  to  moral  judg- 
ment does  not  imply  that  if  any  given  act  were  judged,  it 
would  necessarily  be  found  to  be  appreciably  good  or  bad. 
The  vast  majority  of  our  acts  are,  so  far  as  we  know,  indif- 
ferent. Of  course  we  never  stop  to  judge  more  than  a  petty 
fraction  of  them;  and  we  should  quickly  defeat  our  own 
ends  if  we  should  attempt  to  do  so. 

IV.  CONTENT  OP  THE  MORAL  ACT 
1.    The  Problem 

Complexity  of  Deliberate  Conduct.  —  The  question  may 
be  raised,  how  much  the  act,  as  a  subject  of  moral  judgment, 
comprehends.  For  a  deliberate  act  is  a  fairly  complicated 
phenomenon.  Let  us  take  an  example.  A  cowboy,  who 
has  lost  his  money  at  gambling,  is  weary  of  the  hard  life 
of  the  ranch  and  longs  for  a  debauch  in  town.  He 
tampers  with  a  railroad  switch.  The  train,  he  thinks,  will 
certainly  be  derailed ;  all  on  board  will  be  more  or  less 
shaken  up ;  and  some  may  be  seriously  injured  or  even  killed. 
The  thought  makes  him  wince,  though  he  has  seen  bloodshed 
more  than  once;  but  he  is  unwilling  to  go  back  to  the 
ranch,  and  he  must  have  his  fling.  In  the  confusion,  he 
counts  upon  being  able  to  surprise  and  overawe  the  passengers 
and  crew,  kill  any  one  who  attempts  resistance,  and  make  off 
with  the  valuable  contents  of  the  express  car.  What  actu- 


32    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

ally  happens  is,  that  while  the  train  is  partly  derailed,  no 
serious  injury  results,  and  the  man  himself  is  wounded  and 
taken  prisoner. 

Analysis.  —  Here  we  may  easily  distinguish  between  the 
external  side  of  the  act,  as  it  might  have  been  seen  by  a 
favorably  situated  spectator,  and  the  internal  side,  or  voli- 
tion, of  which  only  the  agent  himself  could  be  directly  aware. 
The  former,  we  may  say,  contains  the  physical  act  itself  — 
the  voluntary  movements  made  in  tampering  with  the  switch 
—  and  the  actual  consequences  which  followed  from  it.  These 
consequences  were  in  part  foreseen,  but  for  the  most  part 
unforeseen,  by  the  agent.  Again,  the  volition  contains  two 
parts  or  factors  —  we  need  not  now  ask  which  term  is  more 
appropriate.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  the  emotional  factor, 
the  combination  of  motives  which  urge  the  man  to  persist 
in,  or  refrain  from,  his  act :  discontent,  greed,  lust,  etc., 
on  the  one  hand,  and  pity  and  fear,  on  the  other.  (The 
stronger  emotions,  which  dominate  the  act,  are  often  called 
simply  '  the  motive/)  In  the  second  place,  there  is  the  in- 
tellectual factor,  or  intention;  that  is  to  say,  the  act  and 
its  consequences  as  foreseen  by  the  agent.  The  particular 
consequences  for  the  sake  of  which  the  act  is  performed, 
and  to  which  (as  we  say)  the  dominant  motives  attach, 
are  the  end,  or  purpose  —  in  our  example,  the  escape  from 
drudgery,  and  the  debauch  in  town.  From  the  end  we  dis- 
tinguish the  means  devised  to  accomplish  it :  the  tampering 
with  the  switch,  the  display  of  force,  and,  if  necessary, 
murder.  And  we  similarly  distinguish  any  other  conse- 
quences which  the  agent  perceives  to  be  involved  in  his  act, 
but  in  which  he  takes  no  effectual  interest  —  e.g.  the  risk 
of  injury  to  the  train  and  its  occupants. 

For  a  second  example,  we  may  consider  the  act  of  a  woman 
who  drops  a  ten-dollar  bill  into  the  hat  of  a  professional 
beggar.  Her  motive  is  pity;  her  end  is  to  relieve  misery; 
and  the  gift  is  intended  as  a  means  to  effect  this  end.  Actu- 


THE  FIELD  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENTS 


33 


ally,  let  us  say,  the  beggar  spends  the  money  in  a  debauch 
from  which  he  never  recovers. 

The  whole  division  may  be  set  forth  thus  : 

External  f  Voluntary  movements 
side      I  Actual  consequences 


The  act 


Foreseen 
Unforeseen 


Volition 


Motives 


Intention 


Dominant 

Suppressed 

End 

Means 

Other    foreseen 


conse- 


quences 

How  Much  does  the  Moral  Act  Comprehend?  —  Now 
almost  every  fraction  of  the  whole  act  as  thus  analyzed  has 
been  regarded  as  the  proper  subject  of  moral  judgments. 
No  thinker  of  any  consequence  has  thus  singled  out  the  physi- 
cal side  to  the  neglect  of  the  psychological  side ;  but  there 
has  been  a  good  deal  of  difference  of  opinion  as  to  whether 
the  psychological  side  alone  constitutes  the  moral  act. 
Again,  some  have  held  that  only  the  motive  counts,  while 
others  have  said  the  same  of  the  intention.  Though  no  one 
has  seriously  held  that  the  end  alone  is  of  consequence  (apart 
from  the  means  and  from  other  anticipated  consequences 
of  the  act),  men  have  sometimes  imputed  this  view  to  their 
adversaries,  and  it  goes  by  the  name  of  Jesuitry.  This  makes 
at  least  four  important  views  as  to  the  constitution  of  the 
moral  act :  (1)  that  it  is  the  act  and  its  consequences  as  a 
whole ;  (2)  that  it  is  the  volition ;  (3)  that  it  is  the  motive ; 
and  (4)  that  it  is  the  intention ;  while  (5)  the  view  that  it 
is  the  end  may  be  dismissed  from  consideration. 

2.   Status  of  Unforeseen  Consequences 
The  Problem.  —  From  what  was  said  in  an  earlier  part 
of  this  chapter,  we  may  be  led  to  infer  that  so  far  as  the  con- 
sequences of  the  act  are  not  foreseen  by  the  agent,  they  do 


34    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  ^SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

not  express  his  character  and  hence  form  no  part  of  his  act. 
It  is  not  due  to  the  robber,  we  may  say,  that  the  train  holds 
the  track  and  that  hundreds  of  men  and  women  escape 
injury ;  and  it  is  not  the  woman's  fault  that  the  beggar  does 
not  make  better  use  of  his  opportunity.  But  when  we  re- 
flect upon  our  judgments  in  such  cases,  do  we  find  that  they 
confirm  this  view?  Is  not  our  condemnation  of  the  former 
far  less  severe  and  uncompromising  than  it  would  be  if  the 
horrors  of  an  actual  wreck  were  before  our  mind?  And 
would  we  not  admire  the  latter  far  more  if  there  were  a  re- 
constructed life  to  show  for  her  charity  ? 

Indirect  Approach.  —  These  questions  are  not  so  simply 
answered  as  a  hasty  inspection  might  lead  us  to  suppose. 
No  excuse  is  commoner  than,  "  I  didn't  mean  to  " ;  but  it 
is  by  no  means  always  accepted.  It  will  be  well  for  us  to 
approach  the  consideration  of  the  problem  indirectly,  and, 
before  attempting  to  determine  the  moral  significance  of  un- 
foreseen consequences,  to  try  to  see  clearly  just  what  the 
foreseen  consequences  contemplated  by  the  moral  judgment 
include. 

(1)  Meaning  of  '  Foreseen.'  —  '  Foreseen  '  is  a  very  much 
broader  term  than  '  definitely  expected.'  We  foresee  not 
only  certainties  but  probabilities  and  possibilities  of  every 
degree.  The  maid  who  empties  a  pitcher  of  water  out  of  a 
window  may  see  the  man  standing  on  the  sidewalk  below; 
or,  without  glancing  out,  she  may  be  well  aware  that  men 
are  constantly  passing  by ;  or  the  hour  may  be  such  that  she 
thinks  there  is  very  little  chance  of  any  one's  being  in  that 
locality.  Now  it  is  obvious  that  even  slight  possibilities 
may  affect  the  moral  value  of  an  act.  It  is  commendable 
to  take  into  account  a  chance  of  doing  good,  even  though  a 
strong  probability  of  a  different  result  is  perceived ;  and  it  is 
blameworthy  to  take  chances  of  doing  harm,  even  though 
the  chances  are  not  great.  The  good  physician  does  not 
spare  his  pains  upon  the  desperate  case ;  and  the  good  soldier 


THE  FIELD  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENTS  35 

holds  the  fort  against  overwhelming  odds.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  chauffeur  who  disregards  the  warning  signals 
at  a  sharp  turn  in  a  narrow  road  is  condemned  as  rash,  even 
though  there  may  be  very  little  chance  that  another  vehicle 
is  approaching  just  at  that  moment. 

Some  Possibilities  are  Negligible.  —  And  yet  this  must 
not  be  pushed  too  far.  For  if  we  attempt  to  allow  for  all  the 
possibilities  in  every  situation  we  shall  never  be  able  to  act 
at  all.  We  must  omit  chances  of  doing  good,  and  we  must 
take  chances  of  doing  harm.  Probability  must  to  a  large 
extent  be  the  guide  of  life.  We  may,  then,  fairly  say  that 
possibilities  of  a  very  low  grade  do  not  fall  within  the  scope 
of  the  moral  act ;  and  such  possibilities  are  regarded  as  '  un- 
foreseen/ or  '  unintended/  even  though  we  have  had  them 
distinctly  in  mind. 

Negligibility  is  Matter  of  Opinion.  —  But  just  how  slight 
must  the  possibility  be  to  warrant  our  ignoring  it?  There 
is  no  general  answer.  The  degree  varies  greatly.  Large 
interests,  of  course,  lessen  the  attention  that  we  can  spare 
to  small  ones ;  and  the  necessity  for  prompt  action  excuses 
what  might  otherwise  be  pure  rashness.  But  beyond  such 
vague  principles  as  these,  all  is  matter  of  opinion  —  either 
one's  own  peculiar  personal  opinion,  drawn  from  one's  own 
experience,  or  the  public  opinion  which  grows  out  of  the 
general  experience  and  is  more  or  less  shared  by  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  community. 

The  Common  Opinion  as  Standard.  —  What  happens 
when  the  spectator  and  the  man  whom  he  is  judging  differ 
in  opinion  as  to  the  possibilities  that  may  be  disregarded? 
The  former  may  say  that  the  latter  is  committing  a  mere 
error  of  judgment,  and  acquit  him  of  evil-doing.  For  an 
error  of  judgment  is  not  an  immoral  act  or  even  an  act  at 
all ;  and  no  goodness  of  heart  can  take  away  a  man's  liability 
to  error.  It  may,  however,  lessen  it.  The  good  man  who 
sincerely  tries  to  do  what  is  right,  takes  his  failures  and  his 


36    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

almost-f allures  to  heart  and  corrects  his  judgment  by  them ; 
and  besides  he  is  ready  to  take  note  of,  if  not  to  accept,  the 
criticisms  of  others ;  whereas  the  bad  man,  who  is  less  anx- 
ious to  avoid  evil  consequences,  goes  on  his  way  unreflecting. 
It  thus  often  happens  that  an  error  of  judgment  may  be  taken 
as  an  indication  of  an  immoral  character.  The  chauffeur 
who  cares  very  much  whether  he  causes  serious  injury  is 
very  likely  to  form  a  tolerably  sound  judgment  as  to  what  he 
can  safely  do.  We  therefore  take  the  common  opinion  as  a 
rough  standard,  and  regard  any  man  who  is  distinctly  less 
careful  than  it  calls  for  as  in  this  respect  a  bad  man. 

(2)  Unforeseen  Possibilities.  —  Now,  is  not  the  case  per- 
fectly similar  with  the  possible  consequences  which  are  not 
simply  disregarded  but  are  not  borne  in  mind  at  all,  or  which 
the  agent  may  be  too  ignorant  to  anticipate  ?  A  man  cannot 
bear  everything  in  mind ;  still  less  can  he  know  everything. 
Accordingly,  when  we  see  any  one  acting  in  entire  unmindful- 
ness  of  possibilities  which  we  ourselves  think  of  as  important, 
we  often  excuse  him  on  the  ground  of  forgetfulness  or  igno- 
rance. And  yet  these  are  not  always  an  excuse.  The  man 
who  is  anxious  to  do  right  is,  generally  speaking,  less  prone 
to  forget  and  more  ready  to  learn.  There  are  some  things 
which  every  good  man  may  be  expected  to  know  and  to 
remember.  There  are  others  which  lack  of  experience  may 
easily  cause  him  to  overlook.  If  the  woman,  who,  without 
investigation,  gave  ten  dollars  to  a  professional  beggar,  were 
very  young  or  had  lived  a  very  circumscribed  life,  we  should 
not  think  ill  of  her  for  her  impulsiveness.  But  when  a  man 
wastes  his  strength  in  dissipation ;  when  he  spreads  slander- 
ous reports ;  when  he  neglects  the  training  of  his  children  — 
in  such  cases  we  are  not  apt  to  admit  the  plea  that  he  did  not 
think  of  the  possible  consequences.  For  that  is  one  of  the 
characteristics  of  a  bad  man :  not  to  think  of  consequences. 
As  a  general  rule,  the  careless  man  is  a  man  who  does  not 
care. 


THE  FIELD  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENTS  37 

The  moral  judgment  which  we  pass  upon  an  act  because  of 
its  unconsidered  possibilities  is  thus,  like  the  judgment  upon 
a  wholly  unreflective  act  (see  above,  p.  29),  indirect.  A 
man  who  was  incapable  of  learning  from  experience  how  to 
weigh  chances,  and  whose  attention  was  so  weak  that  it  wan- 
dered constantly  from  the  things  that  concerned  him  most, 
would  be  an  idiot  and  not  a  moral  agent  at  all.  Of  men  in 
general  we  may  safely  say  that  what  they  now  fail  to  consider 
is  determined  by  what  they  have  in  the  past  considered. 

(3)  Effect  of  Actual  Consequences.  —  In  all  this,  let  it  be 
observed,  it  is  mere  possibilities  that  we  have  been  discussing. 
We  condemn  the  man  who  neglects  his  children,  though  there 
have  been  many  cases  in  which  neglected  children  have 
grown  up  into  strong  and  useful  citizens.  So  much  is  clear. 
But  now  let  us  ask  what  particular  effect  the  actual  conse- 
quences have  upon  our  moral  judgment. 

Exaggeration  of  Moral  Value.  —  It  is  easy  to  see  that,  as 
a  rule,  they  affect  us  more  strongly  than  mere  possibilities 
do,  and  that  consequently  the  good  or  evil  quality  of  the  act 
is  greatly  intensified  in  our  eyes.  When  a  man  tries  to  do 
us  a  service,  we  perceive  his  kindness ;  but  when  he  succeeds, 
the  more  vivid  sense  of  the  benefit  makes  the  kindness  seem 
far  greater.  This  effect,  however,  is  one  which  reflection 
tends  to  weaken,  and  consequently  is  regarded  as  an  illusion. 
In  our  cool  moments  of  afterthought  we  do  not  hesitate  to 
say  that,  where  the  endeavor  is  the  same,  success  and  failure 
do  not  affect  the  moral  value  of  the  act. 

Prima  Facie  Evidence  of  Possibility.  —  At  the  same  time 
the  fact  that  a  consequence  occurs  is  prima  facie  evidence 
to  us  that  it  was  reasonably  possible ;  that  is  to  say,  that  it 
was  possible  enough  to  call  for  forethought.  That  is  the 
position  which  we  naturally  assume ;  and  evidence  (or  preju- 
dice) to  the  contrary  is  necessary  to  make  us  take  any  other. 
When  an  automobile  runs  down  a  child,  our  tendency  is  to 
charge  the  chauffeur  with  criminal  carelessness,  unless  a 


38    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

strong  personal  regard  for  him,  or  the  obvious  impossibility 
of  his  avoiding  the  accident,  produces  a  contrary  effect. 
Now  this  is  by  no  means  a  fallacious  tendency,  but  is  fully 
in  accord  with  the  logic  of  probabilities.  Other  things  being 
equal,  the  fact  that  a  thing  does  happen  is  presumptive 
proof  that  it  was  likely  to  happen. 

Evidence  of  Intention  and  Purpose.  —  Furthermore,  the 
actual  consequence  is  prima  fade  evidence  to  us  (though 
somewhat  weaker  than  before),  that  it  was  intended  by  the 
agent,  and  even  (with  still  weaker  force)  that  it  was  his  dis- 
tinct purpose  in  acting.  What  we  see  coming  from  a  man  we 
ascribe  to  him,  unless  further  evidence  or  passion  makes  us 
think  otherwise.  This,  of  course,  does  not  apply  to  our  own 
acts,  for  we  are  well  aware  in  advance  what  our  intentions 
and  purposes  are  —  in  so  far  as  we  really  have  them.  But 
we  have  to  judge  of  the  other  man's  intentions  mainly  by  his 
overt  acts ;  and,  in  assuming  that  he  means  to  do  what  he 
actually  does,  our  judgment  follows  the  natural  path  of  least 
resistance. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten,  however,  that  this  assumption 
is  capable  of  being  removed  by  reflection;  and  the  more 
given  to  reflection  we  are,  and  the  less  apt  to  be  carried  away 
by  the  impression  of  the  moment,  the  more  likely  we  are  to 
correct  our  moral  judgment  by  attentively  discriminating 
between  what  the  agent  did  or  did  not  intend  to  do,  as  well 
as  between  what  he  might  or  might  not  reasonably  have 
foreseen. 

Summary  and  Conclusion.  —  We  may,  therefore,  say,  by 
way  of  summary,  that  it  is  only  as  the  actual  consequences 
of  the  act  are  assumed,  or  reflectively  believed,  to  be  due  to 
the  character  of  the  agent,  that  they  are  regarded  as  belong- 
ing to  the  act.  Unforeseen  consequences  are  in  themselves 
indifferent.  They  may,  however,  be  indirectly  judged,  in 
so  far  as  they  are  felt  to  be  indications  of  the  way  in  which 
the  agent  intentionally  acts. 


THE  FIELD  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENTS  39 

The  theory,  that  the  psychological  side  of  an  act  alone 
constitutes  the  act  as  morally  judged,  thus  turns  out  to  be 
substantially  correct.  Man  is  not  a  bodiless  spirit,  and  his 
actions  are  not  mere  thoughts  or  feelings.  And  for  the  most 
part  it  is  only  as  thoughts  and  feelings  are  incarnate  in  actual 
deeds  that  we  are  able  to  perceive  and  judge  them.  Still, 
as  our  account  has  shown,  it  is  the  psychological  side  of  the 
act  that,  so  far  as  it  appears,  is  of  determining  significance 
for  the  moral  judgment. 

These  conclusions  are  exactly  confirmed  by  the  study  of 
the  development  of  punishment.  Among  peoples  of  a  low 
grade  of  culture,  little  or  no  distinction  is  made  between  the 
reparation  exacted  for  intentional  or  unintentional  injury, 
and  the  penalty  incurred  by  intentional  injury.  But  as  civil 
and  criminal  law  have  become  differentiated  from  each  other, 
the  latter  gradually  gives  up  the  cognizance  of  unintentional 
acts.  Thus  to  the  savage  it  is  all  one  whether  I  kill  his 
brother  accidentally  or  of  malice  aforethought.  He  will 
get  satisfaction  if  he  can,  either  by  killing  me  or  by  killing 
some  near  relative  of  mine.  In  a  civilized  country  the  state 
will  punish  for  a  criminal  act,  if  it  was  intentional,  but  only 
exceptionally  otherwise.  But  if  I  infringe  upon  legally  pro- 
tected rights,  the  law  will  compel  me  to  make  restitution, 
whether  I  intended  the  act  or  not. 

3.  Motive  vs.  Intention 

The  Motive  as  Object  of  Judgment.  —  It  has  been  said 
that  moralists  have  been  seriously  divided  upon  the  question, 
whether  the  motive  or  the  intention  is  the  proper  and  ulti- 
mate object  of  moral  judgment.  On  the  one  side,  it  is  urged 
that  it  is  the  motives  that  make  up  the  character  of  the  man, 
of  which  his  intentions  are  but  an  after-effect.  It  is  love  and 
hate,  charity  and  greed,  pride  and  humility,  and  the  like  that 
make  different  objects  appeal  to  us  and  set  us  a-following 
after  them.  And  the  only  way  in  which  the  objects  are  of 


40    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

importance  for  the  moral  judgment  is  that  they  serve  to  indi- 
cate the  inner  springs  of  feeling.  In  two  actions,  if  the  inten- 
tion is  alike  but  the  motive  is  different,  the  moral  value  differs 
with  the  motive.  When  one  man  enlists  as  a  soldier  from 
patriotism  and  another  from  ennui ;  when  one  man  refuses 
to  fight  from  religious  scruples  and  another  from  cowardice  ; 
we  admire  the  former  and  have  contempt  for  the  latter. 
When  the  objection  is  made,  that  the  same  feeling  may  be 
rightly  indulged  on  one  occasion,  while  it  would  be  wrong 
to  give  way  to  it  on  another,  the  reply  is,  that  all  depends 
upon  the  other  motives  which  are  active  upon  the  two  occa- 
sions. Motives  are  higher  and  lower ;  and,  in  the  good  man, 
when  they  clash  the  higher  prevail.  Parental  love,  for  ex- 
ample, is  noble  as  compared  with  love  of  money ;  it  is  petty 
as  compared  with  patriotism. 

The  Intention  as  Object  of  Judgment.  —  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  may  be  urged,  that  while  in  a  general  way  one  mo- 
tive may  be  regarded  as  higher  than  another,  yet  one  cannot 
from  that  infer  that  the  one  ought  always  to  take  precedence 
over  the  other.  In  the  familiar  conflict  between  love  of 
country  and  love  of  wife  and  children,  the  issue  has  not  al- 
ways to  be  decided  in  the  same  way.  The  urgency  of  the 
needs  upon  both  sides,  the  consequences  reasonably  to  be 
expected  from  the  choice  of  each  alternative,  must  be 
weighed.  It  is  the  intention  alone  that  provides  a  sufficient 
basis  for  the  decision.  Motives  are  good,  when  they  give 
rise  to  good  intentions.  As  for  the  examples  cited,  where 
change  of  motive  alone  is  supposed  to  bring  about  a  change 
in  the  moral  judgment,  the  evident  fact  is  that  the  intention 
also  changes.  The  coward,  for  example,  does  not  see  the 
same  consequences  impending  upon  his  proposed  enlistment 
that  occur  to  the  sturdy  Quaker.  Most  of  the  terms  used 
to  denote  emotions  imply  some  particular  sort  of  an  object, 
and  the  intentions  with  respect  to  this  object  are  taken  for 
granted  when  the  motive  is  said  to  be  good  or  evil  in  itself. 


THE  FIELD  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENTS  41 

'  Parental  love  '  implies  the  intention  to  care  for  one's  chil- 
dren ;  '  greed  '  implies  the  intention  to  grasp  after  all  the  good 
things  in  sight ;  and  so  forth. 

Criticism  and  Conclusion.  —  As  between  the  two  opposed 
theories,  the  latter  (making  the  intention  the  ultimate  ob- 
ject of  moral  judgment)  appears  to  have  the  best  of  the  argu- 
ment. But  a  simple  reflection  serves  to  show  that  this  theory 
also  is  defective.  In  forming  an  estimate  of  the  moral  value 
of  a  man's  intention,  it  is  far  from  being  an  irrelevant  cir- 
cumstance, to  what  part  of  the  intention  the  motive  attaches  — 
which  of  the  anticipated  consequences  constitutes  the  end, 
or  purpose,  of  the  act,  and  which  are  aimed  at  simply  as  a 
means  to  this  end,  or  anticipated  in  a  (wholly  or  relatively) 
indifferent  way.  Suppose  that  a  legislator,  voting  for  an  anti- 
gambling  bill,  believes  that  the  measure  will  be  of  great  ad- 
vantage to  the  state,  and  also  believes  that  his  own  part  in 
passing  it  will  increase  his  chances  of  reelection.  Each  of 
these  anticipated  results  forms  a  part  of  his  intention,  and 
would  be  considered  in  forming  an  estimate  of  the  act ;  but 
the  estimate  would  vary  greatly  according  as  we  believed 
the  one  or  the  other  to  be  the  sole  or  principal  end  in  view. 
But  it  is  the  feeling  that  determines  this. 

We  thus  reach  the  result,  that  the  true  object  of  the  moral 
judgment  is  the  complex  whole  which  motive  and  intention 
make  up  together ;  that  is  to  say,  the  volition.  It  is  thoughts 
colored  by  feelings  that  we  judge  —  not  gray  outlines  of 
thought,  nor  vague  splashes  of  feeling. 


APPENDIX  TO  CHAPTER  III 

THE  INTENTION  TO  DO  RIGHT 

The  Question  Stated.  —  There  is  another  question,  inti- 
mately related  to  those  discussed  in  the  foregoing  pages, 
which  may  be  conveniently  discussed  in  this  place.  We 
have  seen  that  the  moral  conduct  par  excellence,  aside  from 
which  no  other  conduct  would  be  regarded  as  open  to  moral 
judgment,  is  the  conduct  which  the  agent  himself  judges  at 
the  time  of  action.  Now  when  such  a  judgment  accompanies 
the  act,  how  is  the  judgment  of  the  spectator  (or  of  the  agent 
himself  at  some  later  time)  affected  by  it  ?  Does  the  inten- 
tion to  do  right  always  make  an  act  right?  In  more  general 
terms,  must  we  always  say  that  an  act  is  right  or  wrong 
according  as  the  agent  at  the  time  believed  it  to  be  right  or 
wrong? 

The  Affirmative  Answer. — This  is  a  question  which  a  sur- 
vey of  our  actual  judgments  in  such  cases  seems  to  answer 
decisively  —  in  each  of  two  contradictory  ways.  The  story 
of  Philip  the  Second  and  the  Spanish  Inquisition  occurs  as  a 
fair  test  case.  What  are  we  to  think  of  the  part  that  he 
played  in  that  memorable  persecution,  in  the  course  of  which 
thousands  of  innocent  men  and  women  were  put  to  death 
with  the  most  horrible  tortures  ?  So  far  as  we  know,  he  was 
perfectly  assured  of  his  own  righteousness  in  the  matter. 
He  was  but  doing  his  manifest  duty.  Now  what  more  could 
he  do,  and  what  more  can  any  man  be  expected  to  do  ?  To 
be  sure,  he  had  a  strong  natural  vein  of  cruelty,  and  his  pur- 
pose seems  to  have  been  mainly  selfish  —  he  was  morbidly 
anxious  to  secure  the  salvation  of  his  own  soul.  But  what  of 
that  ?  One  must  not  judge  a  man  as  one  would  a  god ;  and 

42 


THE  INTENTION  TO  DO  RIGHT  43 

if  a  man  lives  up  to  the  dictates  of  his  conscience,  he  is  virtu- 
ous in  the  only  way  a  man  can  be. 

The  Negative  Answer.  —  This  sounds  reasonable ;  but 
somehow  it  is  hard  to  accept  it.  It  seems  as  if,  on  the  same 
grounds,  one  would  have  to  pardon  the  very  worst  acts  of 
the  worst  men.  For  (as  Aristotle  pointed  out)  one  of  the 
essential  characteristics  of  wickedness  is  the  perversion  of 
moral  standards.  How,  then,  shall  we  regard  the  very 
viciousness  of  a  man's  character  as  an  excuse  for  the  vicious- 
ness  of  his  conduct?  If  Philip  thought 'that  duty  required 
him  to  destroy  heresy  with  fire,  so  much  the  worse  for  his  own 
miserable  self. 

Compromise.  —  As  usual,  where  there  is  a  strong  conflict 
of  opinion,  there  is  a  popular  compromise  view.  We  are 
asked  to  distinguish  between  formal  Tightness  and  material 
Tightness.  Conduct  which  agrees  with  the  agent's  own  moral 
standard  is  formally  right,  while  conduct  which  agrees  with 
the  true  standard  is  materially  right.  But,  even  supposing 
the  person  judging  is  possessed  of  the  true  standard,  this 
distinction  does  not  help  much.  For  the  question  remains, 
What  is  formal  Tightness  worth  ?  Is  it  a  shadowy  delusion, 
or  is  it  something  real  and  precious?  Perhaps  the  fact  that 
the  terms  of  the  compromise  are  capable  of  being  inter- 
preted to  suit  either  extreme  has  helped  to  make  it  popular. 

We  must  try  to  go  a  little  deeper  and  see  what  the  funda- 
mental points  at  issue  are,  and  how  the  truth  on  both  sides 
can  be  satisfactorily  accounted  for. 

The  Case  for  the  Affirmative. — On  one  side  there  is  the  con- 
viction that  no  man  is  ever  compelled  to  do  wrong.  Where  no 
freedom  of  choice  is  left,  there  is  no  scope  for  moral  valuation. 
Now,  for  a  man  to  do  what  he  believes  to  be  wrong  is  certainly 
wrong,  even  though,  apart  from  this  belief,  it  would  be  pre- 
cisely the  right  thing  for  him  to  do.  To  go  against  one's 
conscience  is  wrong  from  every  point  of  view.  Suppose  that 
Philip,  believing  as  he  did  that  heresy  was  a  deadly  sin,  and 


44    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

that  the  men  whom  he  consigned  to  the  flames  were  in  any 
case  doomed  to  eternal  torments  and  might  easily  lead  others 
into  their  awful  condition;  thinking,  too,  that  perhaps  the 
torture  of  the  flames  might  lead  the  dying  sinner  to  repent- 
ance and  salvation  in  the  very  hour  of  death  —  suppose  he 
had  allowed  a  natural  aversion  to  the  thought  of  suffering 
to  withhold  him  from  his  duty.  Would  not  this  have  been 
vastly  worse  than  what  he  actually  did  ?  If  so,  then,  if  the 
course  he  took  was  wrong,  how  was  it  possible  for  him  to  act 
rightly  ?  It  is  not  a  question  of  what  would  have  been  right 
for  one  of  us  to  do  in  Philip's  place,  but  of  what  it  was  right 
for  Philip  to  do,  being  the  man  he  was.  If  it  is  never  right  to 
disobey  one's  conscience,  it  can  never  be  wrong  to  obey  it.1 
Here  we  must  obviate  some  possible  misunderstanding. 
The  view  which  we  are  now  presenting  does  not  imply  that 
a  man's  moral  standards  cannot  change — that  as  he  reviews 
a  former  act,  committed  in  the  full  belief  in  its  Tightness,  he 
may  not  conclude  that  on  a  similar  occasion  it  would  be  well 
to  do  otherwise,  or  that  he  may  not  deeply  regret  the  lack  of 
insight  which  he  then  displayed.  It  does  mean  that  the  act 
was  nevertheless  morally  right,  and  that  the  contrary  course, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  condemned  by  the  best  judgment  the  man 
then  possessed,  would  have  been  distinctly  wrong.  Again, 
it  does  not  mean  that  a  man  ought  to  have  unlimited  confi- 
dence in  his  own  judgment,  but  simply  that,  in  the  last  re- 
sort, it  is  in  his  own  judgment  that  he  must  trust.  For  the 
respect  paid  to  a  commonly  received  opinion  or  to  the  advice 
of  a  respected  friend  is,  after  all,  the  man's  own  judgment. 
Finally,  it  does  not  mean  that  one  ought  to  desire  nothing 

1  As  thus  stated,  the  argument  applies  only  to  conduct  which  is  believed 
by  the  agent  to  be  not  only  right  (i.e.  permissible)  but  obligatory.  But  it 
may  be  extended  to  cases  where  the  given  alternatives  seem  to  him  to  be 
equally  innocent.  If  in  such  a  case  we  say  that  the  course  which  he  pursues 
is  wrong,  are  we  not  taking  his  moral  character  out  of  his  power  and  making 
it  the  sport  of  chance?  But  that  is  to  deny  him  all  true  liberty  and  re- 
sponsibility. 


THE  INTENTION  TO  DO  RIGHT  45 

except  to  do  what  is  right,  and  to  regard  everything  else  with 
the  indifference  of  a  cynic ;  but  simply  that  one  ought  not 
to  desire  to  do  anything  that  does  not  seem  right.  Why 
should  there  not  be  plenty  of  good  things  in  the  world,  which 
a  man  may  innocently  seek  after  and  enjoy? 

The  Case  for  the  Negative.  —  On  the  other  side  there  is 
the  persistent  conviction  that  men  like  Philip  are  wicked 
men,  and  that  to  condone  their  wickedness  is  to  be  false  to 
our  most  precious  ideals,  to  deliver  ourselves  over  to  a  moral 
anarchy.  If  we  make  an  idol  of  well-intentioned  ignorance, 
every  motive  for  self-enlightenment  is  taken  away.  Whether 
or  not  virtue  is  identical  with  knowledge,  or  with  some  sort 
of  knowledge,  it  is  outrageous  to  pretend  that  no  knowledge 
is  involved  in  it.  Human  virtue  may  not  be  the  virtue  of  a 
god ;  but  it  is  the  virtue  of  a  man,  not  of  a  beast. 

How  far  are  these  last  considerations  valid?    Let  us  see. 

Examination  of  the  Negative  Arguments.  —  In  the  first 
place,  it  is  an  error  to  suppose  that  when  a  man  resolves  to 
follow  the  best  judgment  that  he  possesses,  he  will  not  try 
to  better  his  judgment.  Rather  will  he  have  a  new  and 
powerful  motive  for  doing  so.  And  if  he  sees  another  well- 
intentioned  man  doing  what  seems  to  him  to  be  ill-advised, 
there  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not  wish  to  enlighten  him 
in  the  matter.  Nay,  the  very  fact  that  the  other  man  is 
doing  his  best  gives  an  additional  incentive  to  advise  him ; 
for  there  is  the  greater  chance  that  the  advice,  if  sensible, 
will  be  acted  on.  We  do  not  "  make  an  idol  of  well-inten- 
tioned ignorance  "  when  we  say  that  in  all  grades  of  ignorance 
or  enlightenment  to  be  well-intentioned  is  right  and  to  be 
evilly  intentioned  is  wrong. 

Motives  for  Improvement  not  Affected.  —  But  is  not  a 
man  with  a  good  conscience  content  with  himself,  and  does 
not  a  man  who  is  content  with  himself  cease  to  try  to  im- 
prove ?  This  is  a  plea  that  is  often  heard ;  but  it  only  needs 
to  be  set  down  in  black  and  white  for  us  to  see  how  ground- 


46    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  .ETHICS 

less  it  is.  A  man  with  a  good  conscience  is  content  with 
himself  —  on  the  whole.  But  he  may  be  profoundly  dis- 
contented with  himself  in  many  particular  respects.  In 
fact,  as  ordinary  self-observation  suffices  to  show,  an  earnest 
effort  at  self-improvement  is  one  of  the  things  that  conscience 
most  commonly  demands  of  us.  Quite  as  obviously  false  is 
the  supposition  that  if  we  regard  a  man  as  morally  justified 
in  his  foolish  conduct,  we  can  have  no  reason  to  wish  him  to 
be  wise  enough  to  act  differently.  If  we  have  any  affection 
or  sympathy  for  him,  we  will  wish  to  save  him  the  many 
pangs  which  the  consequences  of  his  folly  may  bring  upon 
him  —  to  say  nothing  of  desiring  for  him  the  joy  which  ex- 
panding knowledge  itself  brings.  And  if  we  are  selfish  we 
will  still  wish  to  avoid  ill  consequences  to  ourselves.  For 
men  live  together  in  so  intimate  a  union  that  they  are  deeply 
concerned  with  one  another's  mode  of  life.  The  conditions 
of  their  happiness  are  most  complexly  interwoven.  Now, 
doubtless  the  morality  of  our  neighbors  is  much  the  most 
important  factor  in  their  usefulness  to  us.  But  it  is  not  the 
only  factor.  We  would  rather  have  them  ignorant  and 
good  than  well-informed  and  malignant.  But  surely  we 
would  like  best  to  have  them  good  and  wise  to  boot. 

General  Agreement  of  Moral  Standards.  —  In  the  second 
place,  what  of  the  fear  of  moral  anarchy?  Is  this  well 
founded?  Let  us  note,  first,  that  the  consciences  of  well- 
intentioned  men  in  any  society  show  a  strong  mutual  resem- 
blance. Individuals  are  peculiar,  but  they  are  not  altogether 
peculiar.  The  approval  of  certain  modes  of  conduct  as  right, 
and  of  certain  other  modes  as  wrong,  runs  pretty  uniformly 
through  all  classes  of  men  and  women.  The  differences  that 
are  observable  are  mainly  with  respect  to  the  degree  of  im- 
portance of  the  various  moral  requirements,  or  with  respect 
to  the  validity  of  the  excuses  that  may  be  urged  for  various 
deviations  from  the  usual  requirements.  Thus  some  will 
regard  adultery  as  the  deadliest  of  sins,  and  some  others  will 


THE  INTENTION  TO  DO  RIGHT  47 

regard  it  as  of  much  less  consequence  than  commercial  dis- 
honesty; but  all  will  agree  that  it  is  wrong.  Thus,  again, 
one  merchant  may  hold  himself  to  strict  truthfulness  in  his 
advertisements,  while  another  may  feel  that  trade  customs 
are  such  that  customers  expect  some  degree  of  exaggeration 
and  make  allowance  for  it;  but  both  agree  that  to  receive 
money  on  false  pretenses  is  wrong  —  as  a  general  rule.  The 
actual  difference  in  men's  moral  standards  is  thus  far  from 
being  anarchical.  To  judge  them  by  their  own  standards  is, 
in  general,  not  very  different  from  judging  them  by  our  own 
or  by  the  standard  of  public  opinion.  In  fact,  in  most  cases 
there  is  no  practical  difference.  We  cannot  see  into  other 
men's  consciences;  and  unless  there  is  special  reason  for 
thinking  them  (or  ourselves)  peculiar,  we  are  compelled  to 
take  for  granted  that  they  think  as  we  do,  and  as  men  in 
general  have  been  found  to  do. 

The  Remaining  Question.  —  Still,  there  are  many  evident 
exceptions,  and  the  question  remains,  how  are  they  to  be 
judged?  What  of  the  genial  captain  of  finance,  who,  in  the 
firm  conviction  that  all  is  right  that  is  not  criminal,  waters 
the  stock  of  a  railroad  system  to  several  times  the  physical 
value  of  the  property?  What  of  the  courtly  libertine,  who 
thinks  himself  a  man  of  honor,  and  regards  the  systematic 
corruption  of  young  women  as  mere  pleasantry?  Because 
these  men  do  not  condemn  themselves,  must  we  forever  ac- 
quit them?  And  if  we  acquit  them,  is  not  this  anarchy? 

The  Social  Environment  as  an  Excuse.  —  The  answer  is 
not  perfectly  simple.  Sometimes  we  do  acquit  them,  or  at 
least  palliate  the  offense.  There  are  reckless  libertines,  for 
example,  who  are  among  the  most  admired  characters  of 
history.  Obviously,  in  such  cases  we  take  account,  in  some 
way,  of  the  social  conditions  under  which  the  men  developed, 
and  we  regard  them  as  in  some  measure  excused  by  their 
environment.  At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  admitted,  we 
often  refuse  to  acquit  them ;  and  even  when  the  conditions 


48    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

of  their  upbringing  have  been  unfortunate,  we  make  scant 
allowance  on  that  account.  No  doubt  we  are  not  wholly 
fair  in  this.  Factors  of  personal  charm  or  repulsiveness, 
including  even  personal  beauty  or  ugliness,  move  our  feelings 
and  give  a  bias  to  our  judgment.  But  all  the  discrepancy 
is  not  thus  to  be  explained.  Even  in  our  calmest  reflective 
moments  the  fact  remains  that  while  we  admit  environmental 
conditions  as  some  excuse  for  ill  conduct,  we  seldom  accept 
them  as  a  complete  excuse,  and  sometimes  allow  them  almost 
no  weight  at  all.  The  question,  therefore,  recurs  with  un- 
diminished  force :  If  it  is  right  for  a  man  to  do  as  he  thinks 
right,  how  are  we  justified  in  judging  him  by  any  other  stand- 
ard than  his  own?  Or  is  our  reflective  moral  consciousness 
involved  in  a  hopeless  self-contradiction  ? 

Final  Considerations.  —  The  solution  of  the  difficulty  lies 
along  lines  with  which  a  previous  discussion  (cf.  p.  29)  has 
made  us  familiar.  In  so  far  as  a  man  appears  to  us  to  be  the 
passive  product  of  forces  among  which  his  own  will  counted 
for  naught,  we  do  not  regard  him  as  morally  responsible.  But 
common  observation  shows  that  a  man's  character  and 
opinions  are  largely  formed  through  his  own  voluntary  acts. 
Generally  speaking,  it  is  not  the  environment  as  such,  but 
our  own  voluntary  reactions  upon  it,  that  make  us  what  we 
are.1  What  effect  external  forces  have  upon  us  depends  upon 
what  we  are  already.  More  particularly,  the  way  in  which 
we  obey  or  disobey  our  consciences  has  a  good  deal  to  do 
in  determining  the  whole  development  of  our  consciences. 
It  is  by  doing  what  we  believe  to  be  right  that  we  become 
aware  of  the  defects  of  our  conceptions  of  right  and  wrong, 
and  they  are  enlarged  and  corrected  and  refined.  And  by 
persisting  in  doing  what  we  believe  to  be  wrong,  we  confuse 

1  It  may  be  urged,  to  be  sure,  that  ultimately  these  voluntary  acts  must 
be  traced  back  to  involuntary  beginnings  in  the  shape  of  inherited  instincts. 
But,  however  that  may  be,  the  question  here  is,  not  where  the  will  comes 
from,  but,  having  arisen,  what  part  it  plays  in  the  determination  of  conduct. 


THE  INTENTION  TO  DO  RIGHT  49 

and  distort  our  conceptions.  Thus  our  moral  judgment  upon 
an  act  may  have  a  double  bearing.  An  act  in  conformity 
with  conscience,  which,  considered  by  itself,  is  perfectly 
right,  may  be  a  most  significant  index  of  the  stunting  of  con- 
science by  habitual  disobedience  to  it  in  the  past.  As  we 
have  already  had  occasion  to  remark,  there  are  things  which  a 
man  may  be  expected  to  know,  and  among  these  a  goodly 
body  of  moral  distinctions  have  their  place ;  and  while  ig- 
norance of  them  may  be  regarded  as  a  sufficient  excuse  for 
a  particular  course  of  conduct,  it  is  none  the  less  convincing 
evidence  of  general  moral  worthlessness. 

Conclusion.  —  The  truth,  then,  is  that  both  parties  to  the 
controversy  are  fundamentally  correct  in  their  views,  and  no 
compromise  is  necessary.  The  apparent  contradiction  arises 
from  the  attempt  to  limit  the  moral  judgment  to  a  single 
item  of  conduct ;  as,  indeed,  the  use  of  the  terms  '  right ' 
and  '  wrong  '  constantly  tempts  us  to  do.  If,  instead  of  ask- 
ing whether  an  act  is  always  right  when  the  agent  thinks  it 
right,  we  asked  whether  an  act  is  always  just  as  good  (or  bad) 
as  the  agent  thinks  it ;  or,  better  still,  whether  a  man  is  al- 
ways just  as  good  (or  bad)  as  he  takes  himself  to  be ;  every 
one  would  without  hesitation  reply  in  the  negative. 

REFERENCES 

ARISTOTLE,  Nichomachean  Ethics,  Book  HI,  Chs.  I-V. 

WUNDT,  W.,  Ethics,  Part  III,  Ch.  I,  Sect.  I. 

STOUT,  G.  F.,  The  Groundwork  of  Psychology,  Ch.  XVIII. 

WESTERMARCK,  E.,  The  Origin  and  Development  of  the  Moral  Ideas, 

chs.  vm-xm. 

MEZES,  S.,  Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  Ch.  II. 
DEWEY  and  TUFTS,  Ethics,  Chs.  X,  XIII. 
HYSLOP,  J.  H.,  Elements  of  Ethics,  Ch.  III. 
MUIRHEAD,  J.  H.,  Elements  of  Ethics,  Book  II,  Ch.  I. 
WRIGHT,  H.  W.,  Self-realization,  Part  I,  Ch.  I. 


CHAPTER  IV 

RESPONSIBILITY  AND  FREEDOM 
I.   RESPONSIBILITY 

Definition.  —  By  responsibility,  we  mean  the  relation  of  a 
man  to  his  conduct,  by  virtue  of  which  it  makes  him  the  sub- 
ject of  moral  approval  or  disapproval,  especially  the  latter. 
As  thus  defined,  it  is  closely  connected  with  the  notion  of 
legal  responsibility,  in  the  sense  of  liability  to  punishment. 
The  two  notions,  however,  are  clearly  distinct.  There  are 
many  immoral  acts  for  which  society  has  no  punishment ; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  punishment  is  often  inflicted  for 
reasons  far  removed  from  moral  guilt.  Moral  responsibility 
is  liability  to  censure.  Of  course,  to  be  liable  to  censure  im- 
plies that  one  is  equally  liable  to  a  favorable  judgment,  if 
one's  conduct  appears  to  deserve  it.  But  (for  reasons  which 
need  not  here  concern  us)  the  possibility  of  unfavorable 
judgment  is  emphasized. 

The  feeling  of  responsibility,  especially  in  the  form  of 
remorse,  has  been  thought  by  many  writers  to  be  the  most 
distinctive  feature  of  the  moral  life.  When,  for  example, 
Darwin  attempted  to  show  how  a  social  animal,  such  as 
man's  ape-like  ancestor,  was  bound  to  develop  a  conscience 
as  soon  as  his  intelligence  was  sufficiently  advanced,  it  was 
the  sense  of  remorse  for  a  cruelly  heedless  act  that  he  had 
especially  in  mind.  This,  no  doubt,  was  one-sided;  but 
certainly  no  experience  is  better  fitted  than  that  of  remorse, 
to  impress  the  importance  of  moral  values  upon  us. 

Lapse  of  Responsibility.  —  Responsibility  has  temporal 
limits,  though  these  are  very  indefinite.  The  misdeeds  of 

50 


RESPONSIBILITY  AND  FREEDOM  51 

childhood  and  youth  sometimes  awake  in  us  a  sense  of  shame. 
Nevertheless  we  do  not  usually  regard  ourselves  as  still 
responsible  for  acts  committed  so  long  ago.  We  have  left 
them  behind  us.  And  there  are  frequent  illustrations  of  a 
lapse  of  responsibility  for  acts  committed  even  in  manhood. 
A  few  years  ago,  a  convict,  who  had  escaped  from  a  federal 
prison,  and  later  had  married  and  settled  down  to  a  respect- 
able life,  was  betrayed  through  the  malice  of  a  former  asso- 
ciate. There  was  a  very  strong  public  feeling  of  sympathy 
for  him.  The  police  officer  who  made  the  arrest,  and  who 
under  the  circumstances  could  have  claimed  a  substantial 
reward,  scorned  to  take  it.  Appeal  was  made  to  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  for  a  pardon ;  and  though  he  re- 
garded it  against  public  policy  to  grant  a  full  pardon  he  did 
commute  the  sentence  to  a  short  term. 

Its  Cause.  —  What  is  it  that  causes  responsibility  to'cease  ? 
Evidently  a  change  of  character  —  such  a  change  that  the 
character  can  no  longer  be  regarded  as  expressed  in  the  act 
in  question ;  or,  in  other  words,  such  a  change  as  to  warrant 
the  expectation  of  different  conduct  in  the  future.  The 
change  may  take  place  gradually,  or  it  may  be  accomplished 
by  a  sudden  acute  repentance.  Mere  regret  or  even  remorse, 
however,  is  not  enough.  These  may  be  sentimental,  i.e. 
may  not  represent  the  character  as  actual  temptation  reveals 
it.  Nothing  is  commoner  than  ineffectual  regrets  that 
leave  the  man  as  they  find  him.  If  responsibility  is  to  fall 
from  a  man,  there  must  be  a  decided  change  of  heart,  show- 
ing itself  in  consistent  conduct. 

II.  THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  FKEEDOM  AND  RESPONSIBILITY 

Indeterminism.  —  We  have  elsewhere  remarked  that  a 
man  is  not  held  responsible  for  what  he  does  under  physical 
compulsion  or  (generally  speaking)  under  the  influence  of 
overmastering  pain  or  fear.  Such  things  reduce  him  to  the 
level  of  the  unconscious  mechanism,  or,  at  least,  to  the  level 


52    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

of  the  irrational  animal;  and  it  becomes  out  of  place  to 
apply  moral  predicates  to  him.  A  certain  class  of  moral 
theorists  have  extended  this  principle.  They  have  held 
that  a  man  cannot  be  held  responsible  for  his  acts,  except 
in  so  far  as  he  is  their  first  cause;  that  is  to  say,  except  in  so 
far  as  his  will  is  undetermined  in  its  choice  by  any  previous 
condition  whatsoever.  In  a  word,  the  will  must  be  free. 

This  is  one  of  many  senses  in  which  the  expression  '  free- 
dom of  the  will '  has  been  used.  (1)  Sometimes  it  stands 
for  knowledge  both  of  the  particular  circumstances  of  the 
action  and  of  the  various  values  that  are  at  stake.  (2)  Some- 
times it  means  the  power  of  deliberation,  the  suspension  of 
action  while  various  motives  are  being  weighed.  (3)  It 
may  denote  the  control  of  lower  motives  by  higher  motives. 
Where  the  former  have  the  upper  hand  a  man  is  often  said  to 
be  the  '  slave  of  his  appetites.'  (4)  It  may  mean  the  control  of 
conduct  by  one's  own  judgments  of  value,  be  these  correct 
or  incorrect.  But  we  are  now  to  consider  it  in  a  sense  very 
different  from  all  these :  (5)  the  exemption  of  volition  from 
the  principle  of  cause  and  effect.  It  is  conceived  that  the  will 
is  not  determined  by  the  conditions  at  the  time.  Given  the 
same  conditions,  external  and  internal,  in  the  minutest 
detail  —  character,  habits,  knowledge,  ideals,  momentary 
feelings  and  desires  —  the  act  might  be  different.  The  will 
is  indeed  attracted  or  repelled  by  different  motives,  but  not 
controlled  by  them.  It  must  freely  yield  to  a  motive  before 
volition  takes  place.  The  will  sits  as  a  judge  over  the  differ- 
ent impulses,  and  decides  between  them  as  between  different 
claimants.  The  fact  that  a  man  is  good  leaves  him  equally 
free  to  do  evil  things ;  and  if  he  be  evil,  that  fact  leaves  him 
at  all  times  free  to  do  the  very  noblest  things.  This  theory 
is  called  '  indeterminism,'  or  '  libertarianism.'  The  con- 
trary theory  is  called  '  determinism.7 

Alleged  Dependence  of  Responsibility  upon  Freedom.  — 
As  has  been  said,  some  moralists  have  held  that  unless  the 


RESPONSIBILITY  AND  FREEDOM  53 

will  is,  in  this  last  sense,  free,  all  moral  judgment  is  invalid, 
for  the  agent  is  not  responsible.  Determinism,  it  is  urged, 
makes  of  a  man  a  mere  machine,  and,  indeed,  a  mere  part 
of  the  world-machine.  What  he  does  he  does  not  of  himself, 
but  as  the  universe  acts  through  him.  Some  thinkers, 
admitting  the  force  of  this  contention,  have  proceeded  to 
deny  the  existence  of  any  responsibility.  Blame  not  the  man, 
they  have  said,  but  blame  his  parents  and  teachers  who  have 
made  him  what  he  is.  And  yet,  why  them?  The  calm 
conclusion  of  science,  we  are  told,  is  this :  Judge  not  at  all. 
For  the  most  part,  however,  men  have  been  unwilling  to 
accept  this  conclusion.  If  they  believed  that  there  could 
be  no  responsibility  unless  indeterminism  were  true,  they 
have  regarded  this  as  a  proof  of  indeterminism.  And  if 
they  were  convinced  that  the  universality  of  the  law  of 
cause  and  effect  could  admit  of  no  exception,  then  they  have 
denied  that  responsibility  was  for  that  reason  at  all  impaired. 

Let  us  consider  this  alleged  dependence  of  responsibility 
upon  freedom. 

The  Dependence  Unreal.  —  A  little  consideration  should 
show  us  that  there  is  a  serious  misunderstanding  here.  We 
judge  a  man's  acts  in  so  far  as  they  are  conceived  to  express 
his  character.  That  means  that  they  must  be  free  in  the 
sense  of  being  his  acts,  due  to  his  being  the  sort  of  man  he 
is,  not  forced  upon  him  despite  his  character.  But  it  does 
not  mean  that  they  must  be  free  in  the  sense  of  being  inde- 
pendent of  his  character.  For  in  so  far  as  the  acts  are  not 
caused  by  his  character,  they  do  not  express  that  character, 
and  hence  are  not  open  to  moral  judgment. 

But,  it  may  be  urged,  if  a  man's  character  is  the  product 
of  previous  influences,  are  not  those  influences  responsible 
for  his  acts?  Most  assuredly  (we  may  reply),  in  so  far  as 
those  previous  influences  consist  of  other  moral  beings  — 
his  parents  and  teachers  and  associates.  But,  much  as  the 
gun  upon  a  rider's  shoulder  is  carried  both  by  the  man  and 


54    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

by  the  horse,  so  an  evil  deed  that  is  directly  due  to  the  agent's 
character  may  (at  least  in  part)  be  indirectly  due  to  his 
father's  character,  and  thus  be  a  valid  reason  for  our  pass- 
ing an  unfavorable  judgment  upon  both.1 

The  indeterminist  argument  is  sometimes  given  a  special 
point  by  being  applied  to  the  infliction  of  punishment.  Can 
it  be  right  to  inflict  pain  upon  a  man  for  his  misdeeds,  when 
he  is  considered  to  be  the  inevitable  product  of  a  combina- 
tion of  previous  conditions?  Is  not  punishment  on  such  a 
basis  simply  adding  one  evil  to  another?  Certainly,  if 
punishment  is  an  evil.  If  we  are  to  think  of  punishment  as 
a  mere  act  of  vengeance,  it  will  be  difficult  indeed  to  find  any 
adequate  excuse  for  it.  But  if  punishment  is  intended  as 
a  good  to  all  concerned,  and  especially  to  the  evil-doer  him- 
self, the  only  excuse  it  needs  is  its  efficacy.  Why,  because 
circumstances  have  joined  together  to  make  a  wicked  man, 
shall  we  not  try  to  make  him  a  better  man? 

Dependence  of  Responsibility  upon  Determinism.  — 
If  the  argument  for  the  dependence  of  responsibility  on 
indeterminism  is  thus  unconvincing,  there  are,  on  the  other 
hand,  reasons  for  holding  that  responsibility  is  dependent 
on  determinism.  For  responsibility,  as  we  have  seen,  de- 
pends on  the  continuity  of  character ;  and  this  can  only  be 
observed  in  so  far  as  conduct  is  uniform  and  hence  predict- 
able. A  good  man  must  be  more  likely  to  do  right  than  a 
bad  man ;  and  if  the  latter  has  this  probability  against  him, 

1  The  argument  is  often  connected  with  the  religious  belief  in  a  personal 
God  and  in  everlasting  punishment.  If  God,  who  is  himself  a  moral  agent, 
is  the  ultimate  cause  of  all  that  we  are,  is  not  he,  rather  than  ourselves, 
responsible  for  our  sins  ?  And  how,  then,  shall  he  be  justified  in  damning 
us  ?  The  only  answer  to  the  former  question  is  that  he  certainly  is  respon- 
sible, though  the  possibility  lies  open  that  the  creation  of  sinful  man  may 
be  part  of  a  larger  purpose  (not  wholly  comprehensible  to  us)  which  fully 
justifies  it.  To  the  second  question  it  must  be  replied  that  everlasting  pun- 
ishment, if  it  be  a  truth,  is  one  which  no  one  has  succeeded  in  justifying  upon 
any  grounds  whatsoever.  The  dogma  is  based,  of  course,  upon  a  retributive 
conception  of  punishment. 


RESPONSIBILITY  AND  FREEDOM  55 

it  is  hard  to  see  how  his  act  can  be  regarded  as  a  fresh  crea- 
tion, undetermined  by  previous  circumstances.  Moreover, 
we  can  say  that  indeterminism,  by  making  conduct  unpre- 
dictable, makes  moral  praise  and  blame  ineffectual  and  moral 
education  impossible.  In  particular,  the  practice  of  punish- 
ment is  made  ridiculous  —  for  what  else  can  the  infliction 
of  pain  be  expected  to  accomplish,  if  it  cannot  help  to  deter- 
mine the  culprit's  future  conduct  ? 

If  it  is  suggested  that  perhaps  volition  is  partly  deter- 
mined and  partly  undetermined,  we  may  reply  that  in  that 
case  it  remains  true  that  it  is  only  by  reason  of  the  degree  of 
determination  that  exists  that  responsibility  or  moral  educa- 
tion is  possible,  or  that  punishment  is  justifiable. 

The  Kantian  Theory.  —  In  this  connection  we  may  men- 
tion Kant's  famous  argument  to  prove  that  to  acknowledge  a 
moral  obligation  implies  the  assumption  that  man  must  be 
absolutely  free  to  do  what  is  right.  Moral  obligation  (he 
said)  is  conceived  to  be  absolute  and  unconditional ;  it  means 
that  we  ought  to  act  in  a  certain  way,  in  obedience  to  a 
moral  law,  regardless  of  circumstances.  But  we  are  never 
under  obligation  to  do  the  impossible.  Now  all  our  natural 
motives  (i.e.  those  that  are  causally  determined)  vary  with 
circumstances;  hence  if  all  our  motives  are  causally  deter- 
mined, there  may  be  circumstances  under  which  we  cannot 
do  right,  and  hence  are  without  moral  obligation ;  which  is 
absurd.  Therefore  there  must  be  a  distinctive  moral  mo- 
tive which  is  wholly  supernatural  and  undetermined;  and 
this  Kant  identifies  as  reverence  for  the  moral  law.  The 
weakness  of  the  argument  lies  in  the  initial  assumption  that 
moral  obligation  is  to  follow  certain  rules  regardless  of  cir- 
cumstances. Kant  himself  reduced  this  to  an  absurdity 
when  he  declared,  "  that  to  tell  a  falsehood  to  a  murderer 
who  asked  us  whether  our  friend,  of  whom  he  was  in 
pursuit,  had  not  taken  refuge  in  our  house,  would  be  a 
crime."  The  question  is  too  far-reaching  for  us  to  discuss 


56    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

here ;  but  we  shall  elsewhere  give  reasons  for  holding  that 
moral  laws  are  by  no  means  so  rigid  and  invariable  as 
Kant  supposed. 

III.  FURTHER  ARGUMENTS  FOR  INDETERMINISM 

We  may  now  be  interested  in  examining  some  other  con- 
siderations that  have  been  urged  in  favor  of  indeterminism 
or  of  determinism. 

1.  The  Intuition  of  Freedom.  —  Beginning  with  the  former, 
we  have  first  to  note,  not  an  argument,  but  an  assertion, 
that  we  have  a  direct  (intuitive)  consciousness  of  our  free- 
dom.    It  is  safe  to  say  that  the  main  basis  for  this  assertion 
is  (1)  our  not  being  fully  conscious  of  the  causes  of  our  acts. 
It  is  an  appeal  to  ignorance.     Mental  phenomena  are  very 
complicated,  if  not  in  themselves,  at  any  rate  in  their  pre- 
conditions, conscious  and  unconscious ;   and  it  is  easy  for  a 
man  to  overlook  even  important  factors  in  the  forming  of 
his  decisions.    Add  to  this   (2)   our  consciousness,   based 
upon  experience,  that  we  can  do  a  great  many  things  when 
we  so  desire  and  are  not  forcibly  restrained.     We  are  very 
chary  nowadays  of  trusting  in  alleged  intuitive  knowledge, 
for  it  is  fatally  easy  to  claim  and  (when  it  is  disputed)  fatally 
hard  to  validate;    and  the  intuition  of  indeterminism  has 
the  least  claim  to  respect  of  any. 

2.  Change  of  Choice.  —  In  popular  discussion  it  is  some- 
times urged  that  a  man  can  prove  his  freedom  by  "  doing 
it  over  again  the  other  way."    A  certain  choice  has  been 
taken ;  the  conditions  are  repeated ;   and  now,  to  prove  his 
point,  the  man  does  differently.     The  reply  is,  of  course, 
that  the  similarity  of  external  conditions  does  not  necessarily 
imply  that  the  motives  are  the  same ;   and  in  this  case  we 
can  even  lay  our  finger  upon  one  important  new  motive: 
the  man's  desire  to  prove  his  point. 

3.  The  Destruction  of  Effort  —  Fatalism. — If  determinism 
were  accepted  as  true,  would  it  not  destroy  all  effort  ?    And 


RESPONSIBILITY  AND  FREEDOM  57 

if ,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  determinists  have  not  been  especially 
inert  beings,  does  not  this  prove  that  they  did  not  really 
believe  in  their  doctrine?  If  we  believe  that  everything  in 
the  universe  is  completely  predetermined,  how  can  we  intelli- 
gently try  to  accomplish  anything?  And  if,  on  the  contrary, 
we  do  constantly  frame  ends  and  endeavor  to  accomplish 
them,  does  not  this  prove  that  in  our  hearts  we  believe  in 
our  own  freedom? 

Before  directly  replying  to  these  questions,  it  will  be  well 
for  us  to  note  the  difference  between  determinism  and  fatal- 
ism. Fatalism  is  the  belief  that  certain  events  —  especially 
death  —  are  bound  to  occur  in  a  certain  way  (or  to  occur 
at  a  certain  time)  no  matter  what  the  previous  conditions 
are.  Thus  a  woman  believed  that  she  was  fated  to  be 
drowned  at  sea ;  and  when  a  steamer  in  which  she  had  taken 
passage  was  wrecked,  she  refused  to  enter  a  life-boat,  be- 
cause, as  she  said,  she  would  only  bring  disaster  to  the  others 
in  the  boat.  A  Filipino  quack  doctor  made  the  most  ex- 
travagant claims  with  regard  to  his  healing  powers.  When 
a  number  of  his  patients  died,  he  was  not  in  the  least  dis- 
concerted. He  had  been  perfectly  able  to  cure  them,  he 
said,  but  their  time  had  come  —  as,  indeed,  the  fact  of  their 
death  proved.  And  when  a  man's  time  has  come  to  die, 
nothing  can  prevent  it ! 

It  is  not  difficult  to  see  that  fatalism  is  more  closely  allied 
to  indeterminism  than  to  determinism.  It  is  a  belief  in 
the  discontinuity  of  events.  Determinism  is  a  belief  in 
their  complete  continuity :  that  nothing  ever  happens  except 
as  an  outgrowth  of  previous  conditions. 

Now  fatalism  does  sometimes  produce  a  sort  of  apathy. 
When  a  man  believes  that  all  the  important  issues  of  life 
are  fixed  in  advance,  in  such  a  fashion  that  nothing  that  he 
can  do  can  have  the  least  influence  upon  the  result,  it  is 
only  natural  that  he  should  not  feel  very  energetic.  Some- 
times, we  may  add,  fatalism  produces  an  opposite  effect, 


58    INTRODUCTION   TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

especially  when  it  attaches  only  to  the  issue  of  life  and  death. 
The  Turkish  soldier,  for  example,  who  believes  that  the 
day  of  his  death  is  appointed,  fights  with  an  extraordinary 
abandon.  If  his  time  has  come,  no  cowardice  will  save  him ; 
and  if  it  has  not  come,  no  danger  can  be  fatal  to  him. 

But  there  is  nothing  in  determinism  to  produce  either  the 
one  effect  or  the  other  —  either  indifference  or  desperation. 
The  determinist  believes  that  his  impulses  are  efficient  causes 
by  which  the  future  course  of  events  must  in  part  be  shaped. 
Why,  then,  should  he  cease  to  feel?  He  believes  that  his 
efforts  count  for  something  in  determining  his  happiness  or 
unhappiness.  Why,  then,  should  he  cease  to  struggle? 
There  is  no  reason ;  just  as  there  is  no  reason  why  he  should 
feel  more  passionately  or  struggle  more  desperately  than 
the  given  conditions  warrant. 

To  be  sure,  a  belief  in  determinism  will  not  of  itself  awaken 
any  sources  of  feeling  in  man's  nature;  but,  then,  nobody 
has  ever  pretended  that  it  did.  If  a  man  is  without  love 
or  ambition  or  loyalty,  determinism  will  not  inspire  them 
in  him.  But  neither  if  he  has  them  will  it  take  them  away. 

IV.  FURTHER  ARGUMENTS  FOR  DETERMINISM 

Let  us  now  turn  to  the  evidences  that  are  offered  in  favor 
of  determinism. 

1.  The  Intuition  of  Determinism.  —  Just  as  indeterminism 
has  been  based  on  an  alleged  intuition,  so  has  determinism. 
It  has  been  held  that  the  law  of  cause  and  effect  is  an  axiom 
self-evident  to  human  reason.  But  apart  from  our  grow- 
ing unwillingness  to  rely  on  intuitions,  there  are  particular 
reasons  why  the  law  of  cause  and  effect  should  not  be  put 
upon  such  a  basis. 

The  distinguishing  marks  of  an  intuition  are  supposed  to 
be  its  clearness  and  distinctness  and  its  universal  applica- 
tion. But  few  maxims  of  science  or  philosophy  have  been 
more  shifting  and  uncertain  in  their  meaning  than  this; 


RESPONSIBILITY  A.ND  FREEDOM  59 

and  none  have  been  more  in  dispute.  "  Nothing  happens 
by  chance,  but  all  things  follow  from  necessity,"  is  an  old 
formulation,  which  might  be  more  intelligible  if  we  were 
first  told  what  chance  is ;  and  yet  how  can  chance  be  defined 
except  as  absence  of  causal  necessity?  —  a  vicious  circle. 
"  Every  event  presupposes  a  previous  event  upon  which  it 
follows  according  to  a  universal  rule,"  is  another  famous 
version,  the  only  fault  with  which  is  that  it  is  obviously  un- 
true. One  event,  taken  by  itself,  does  not  cause  another, 
regardless  of  all  other  attendant  circumstances.  There  are 
no  separate  and  distinct  chains  of  causation,  but  a  constant 
interference.  Shall  we  then  say  that  the  true  causes  and 
effects  are  not  events  but  tendencies  —  tendencies  which 
may  thwart  or  conceal  one  another,  but  which  are  real  none 
the  less?  But  what  is  a  tendency?  Some  men  have  held 
that  it  is  nothing  else  than  the  momentum  of  a  body  moving 
in  space,  and  that  causality  is  simply  the  communication 
of  motion  from  one  body  to  another  by  impact.  The  dis- 
covery of  the  law  of  gravitation,  which  seems  to  imply  '  ac- 
tion at  a  distance/  made  this  theory  impracticable.  In 
our  own  time  many  men  declare  that  all  causality  is  trans- 
formation of  energy,  and  that  the  law  of  cause  and  effect, 
when  properly  stated,  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  the  law 
of  the  conservation  of  energy.  But  when  we  try  to  apply 
this  law  to  the  explanation  of  mental  phenomena  —  e.g.  the 
association  of  ideas  —  it  becomes  meaningless,  at  least  so 
far  as  we  can  now  see.  Besides,  there  are  men  who  hold 
that  all  causation  is  psychical  —  that  the  very  conception 
of  a  cause  comes  to  us  from  the  operation  of  our  own  wills, 
and  that  the  action  of  bodies  upon  each  other  must  be  in- 
terpreted after  the  analogy  of  our  own  conscious  behavior. 
The  plain  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  '  cause  '  and  '  effect ' 
have  no  single  intuitively  clear  and  distinct  meanings,  but 
a  variety  of  meanings,  some  very  clear  and  some  very  hazy, 
all  held  together  by  the  fact  that  they  are  conceptions 


60    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

according  to  which  we  explain  the  conditions  of  one  time 
by  the  conditions  that  have  gone  before.  "  All  conditions 
prevailing  at  any  one  moment  can  somehow  be  completely 
explained  from  the  conditions  that  prevailed  at  any  previous 
moment :  "  such  is  the  law  of  causality. 

In  saying  this  we  must  not  be  understood  to  imply  that 
the  law  of  cause  and  effect  is  meaningless  or  useless.  On 
the  contrary,  there  is  much  virtue  in  a  '  somehow/  The 
point  upon  which  we  are  insisting  is  that  the  presumption 
is  all  against  the  theory  that  we  have  an  intuitive  knowledge 
of  such  a  law. 

2.  Determinism  as  a  Presupposition  of  Science.  —  It  is 
sometimes  said  that  determinism  is  an  unavoidable  assump- 
tion in  all  scientific  work.  For  the  business  of  science  is  to 
explain;  and  any  condition  that  was  inexplicable  would 
lie  outside  the  limits  of  science.  To  study  anything  is  to 
assume  that  it  can  be  explained  and  hence  is  subject  to  the 
law  of  cause  and  effect.  Furthermore,  science  can  never 
recognize  any  occasion  for  the  opposite  assumption.  No 
matter  how  long  a  phenomenon  has  seemed  to  contradict 
all  known  principles,  we  can  still  take  for  granted  that  it  is 
to  be  explained  on  principles  yet  unknown. 

This  argument  has  its  force,  but  it  does  not  prove  all  that 
it  is  sometimes  supposed  to  prove.  The  fact  that  I  try  to 
explain  a  phenomenon  does  imply  that  I  take  for  granted 
that  the  phenomenon  is  explicable :  if  I  believed  otherwise, 
I  should  not  try.  And  the  universal  program  of  science,  to 
explain  anything  and  everything  that  may  interest  the  human 
intellect,  similarly  rests  upon  the  presumption  that  all  things 
are  explicable :  in  so  far  as  this  presumption  is  false,  science 
is  foredoomed  to  failure.  It  is  an  essential  postulate  of  the 
science  which  acknowledges  no  bounds.  But  that  hardly 
warrants  us  in  saying  that  any  endeavor  to  explain  any- 
thing can  only  be  justified  on  the  basis  of  a  complete 
determinism. 


RESPONSIBILITY  AND  FREEDOM  61 

3.  The  Progress  of  Science.  —  How  far  does  the  actual 
progress  of  science  prove  the  truth  of  determinism?  It  is 
easy  to  reply  that  it  does  not  prove  it  at  all :  that  however 
far  men  may  have  succeeded  in  laying  bare  the  causal  con- 
nections of  things  they  can  never  be  warranted  in  a  leap  to 
the  conclusion  that  causal  connection  is  universal.  But 
this  is  not  wholly  just. 

Determinism  as  a  Regulative  Principle.  —  A  formally 
correct  and  sufficient  proof  of  the  principle  of  determinism 
cannot  be  derived  from  any  evidence  whatsoever.  The 
world  is  too  vast  and  too  complicated  for  that.  But  neither 
can  the  principle  ever  be  disproved  by  any  evidence  whatso- 
ever. On  each  side  there  is  always  the  refuge  of  infinite 
ignorance.  But  just  because  it  can  never  be  proved  or 
disproved,  its  significance  is  that  of  a  regulative  principle. 
It  is  not  so  much  a  matter  of  objective  fact  as  of  intellectual 
policy.  What  it  declares  is  that  we  shall  look  for  causal  ex- 
planation everywhere  and  in  all  things,  and  never  remit 
our  search  on  the  plea  that  this  or  that  phenomenon  may 
possibly  lie  outside  the  realm  of  law. 

Now  when  determinism  is  thus  viewed  as  a  regulative 
principle,  the  sort  of  proof  that  is  necessary  to  establish  it 
is  precisely  what  is  afforded  by  the  progress  of  science.  In 
ancient  times  the  wisest  men  felt  themselves  justified  in 
rejecting  it.  Plato  and  Aristotle  believed  in  the  existence 
of  universal  causal  laws;  but  they  thought  that  in  no  in- 
dividual case  were  these  laws  more  than  approximately 
realized.  In  each  thing  or  event,  as  they  thought,  there 
was  an  element  of  blind,  irrational  chance,  which  could  never 
be  accounted  for  in  any  way.  So  far  as  physical  events  are 
concerned,  this  notion  (though  disputed  by  the  stoics)  per- 
sisted down  to  modern  times ;  until  it  was  dispelled  by  the 
early  triumphs  of  inductive  science,  culminating  in  the  dis- 
covery of  the  law  of  universal  gravitation.  It  was  not  that 
the  scientist  was  now  ready  with  a  complete  explanation  of 


62    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

anything  and  everything;  but  that  the  disposition  of  his 
mind  was  now  to  look  for  uniformity  in  all  things,  and  to 
regard  apparent  chance  as  the  manifestation  of  unknown 
causes. 

It  is  true  that  in  relation  to  mental  phenomena  the  notion 
of  the  uncaused  still  lingered.  But  it  is  almost  within  a 
generation  that  the  wide  and  successful  application  of  experi- 
mental, comparative,  and  genetic  methods  to  psychology 
gave  it  its  present  secure  place  among  the  natural  sciences. 
So  that  although  the  determinist  position  had  its  earnest 
advocates  from  the  time  of  Hobbes  onward,  the  spirit  of  the 
times  was  not  definitely  against  indeterminism.  The  popu- 
lar consciousness  was  almost  unanimous  in  its  belief  in  the 
freedom  of  the  will,  and  the  scientific  consciousness  was  far 
from  being  unitedly  opposed  to  it.  The  case  of  Descartes  (one 
of  the  fathers  of  modern  thought)  is  typical.  For  the  ma- 
terial universe  he  accepted  the  principle  of  determinism  as 
intuitively  certain.  But  the  will  he  believed  to  be  absolutely 
free.  How  both  these  propositions  could  be  true  together 
was,  he  confessed,  an  insuperable  mystery. 

But  in  our  own  time  we  have  become  far  more  familiar 
with  the  uniformities  of  psychological  phenomena.  The 
discovery  of  Weber's  law  (of  the  relation  between  the  in- 
tensity of  the  stimulus  and  the  intensity  of  the  sensation) 
marked  an  epoch  here.  The  science  is  still  young,  to  be 
sure;  and  in  certain  fields,  such  as  sensation,  perception, 
attention,  and  memory,  far  more  has  been  accomplished 
than  in  some  others,  such  as  emotion  and  will.  But  the 
same  is  or  has  recently  been  true  of  the  sciences  of  external 
nature.  Of  the  vast  and  all-important  subject  of  heredity, 
for  example,  both  in  the  plant  and  in  the  animal  world,  what 
is  known  is  but  a  scanty  fringe  upon  the  vast  unknown. 
And  as  the  deficiencies  in  our  knowledge  of  the  external 
world  count  to  us  as  no  argument  against  the  universality 
of  its  causal  laws,  even  so  there  is  no  reason  to  regard  the 


RESPONSIBILITY  AND  FREEDOM  63 

actual  limitations  of  psychology  as  pointing  to  the  existence 
of  any  transcendent,  incomprehensible  factor  in  mental 
phenomena. 

V.  PHYSICAL  AND  QUASI-PHYSICAL  DETERMINISM 

Let  determinism  remain  altogether  vague,  and  it  has 
little  difficulty  in  maintaining  its  position  against  all  the 
assaults  of  indeterminism.  But  when  it  begins  to  specify 
the  mode  of  determination,  then  the  advantage  is  all  on  the 
side  of  indeterminism.  This  has  been  the  real  strength  and 
animus  of  the  free-will  theory :  not  in  its  opposition  to  the 
conception  of  a  universal  causal  necessity,  but  in  its  resist- 
ance to  certain  specific  theories  as  to  the  way  in  which  men's 
voluntary  acts  are  determined.  Two  of  these  must  be  noted 
here. 

Physical  Determinism.  —  In  the  first  place,  there  has  been 
the  theory,  that  men's  thoughts  and  feelings  are  not  causes 
of  events,  but  helpless  accompaniments  of  them;  that  the 
only  true  causes  are  physical  forces  operating  between  ma- 
terial bodies.  This  is  not  simply  determinism,  but  a  physical 
determinism.  Against  such  a  view  we  may  fairly  urge  (1) 
that  the  causal  value  of  thoughts  and  feelings  is  as  obvious 
and  familiar  to  us  as  any  other  whatsoever.  To  deny  this 
value  is  to  sacrifice  plain  fact  to  a  far-stretched  theory  that 
is  founded  at  best  upon  facts  that  are  no  plainer.  And, 
furthermore,  (2)  when  we  try  to  apply  the  theory  to  mental 
and  social  phenomena  it  vanishes  into  thin  air.  It  is  not 
meant  to  be  so  applied. 

The  Mechanical  Analogy.  —  In  the  second  place,  there 
is  the  far  more  important  theory,  which  looks  upon  human 
motives  as  causes,  but  interprets  their  action  after  the  analogy 
of  mechanical  causes.  The  favorite  illustration  is  the  '  paral- 
lelogram of  forces/  If  a  force  a,  acting  alone  for  a  given 
time  upon  the  object  M,  would  move  it  to  P;  and  if  the 
force  6,  acting  alone  for  the  same  time,  would  move  it  to 


64    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Q;  then  the  two  forces,  acting  together,  would  move  it  to 
R,  the  point  which  with  M,  P,  and  Q  marks  out  a  parallelo- 
gram. In  the  special  case  where  the  two  forces  have  the 
same  direction  or  opposite  directions,  they  simply  add  them- 
selves to  each  other  in  algebraic  fashion.  If  they  have  the 
same  direction,  they  reenf orce  each  other ;  if  they  are  opposed, 
the  stronger  triumphs,  but  with  diminished  strength.  Even 
so,  it  is  said,  a  man's  motives  push  him  in  one  direction  and 
another,  and  his  actual  conduct  is  but  the  resultant  of  their 
united  forces.  In  every  conflict  the  strongest  motive  pre- 
vails. If  the  motives  diverge,  but  are  not  absolutely  opposed, 
the  agent  takes  a  middle  course. 

This  way  of  thinking  is  a  fair  example  of  the  danger  of 
carrying  an  abstraction  too  far.  In  the  principle  of  the 
parallelogram  of  forces  the  object  appears  only  as  a  point 
upon  which  forces  external  to  it  act.  Its  own  nature  counts 
for  nothing  in  the  supposed  result.  Now  even  in  the  me- 
chanical realm  this  is  not  strictly  true.  The  object  is  not 
a  point  but  has  its  shape,  size,  consistency,  mass,  etc.  Put 
a  differently  formed  object  in  its  place  and  the  result  would 
be  different.  Moreover,  the  forces  which  act  upon  it  are 
not  so  external  to  its  nature  as  might  be  supposed.  Sub- 
stitute lead  for  iron  in  a  magnetic  field,  and  the  difference 
is  easily  seen. 

But  if  the  abstraction  is  not  wholly  valid  in  its  applica- 
ton  to  the  physical  world,  it  is  much  more  strikingly  invalid 
in  its  application  to  human  conduct.  A  man  is  as  far  as 
possible  from  being  a  mere  point;  and  the  motives  which 
actuate  him  are  as  far  as  possible  from  being  external  to 
his  nature.  To  use  a  well-worn  example,  the  glass  of  wine 
which  upon  one  man  exerts  an  almost  irresistible  attraction, 
is  hateful  to  a  second,  and  is  taken  or  left  by  a  third  with 
cool  indifference.  It  is  a  man's  character  that  determines 
what  things  attract  and  what  repel  him ;  and  to  leave  that 
character  out  of  account  and  think  of  the  motives  as  a  set 


RESPONSIBILITY  AND  FREEDOM  65 

of  external  mechanical  forces  is  the  very  extreme  of  falsi- 
fication. 

Conclusion.  —  It  is  in  its  opposition  to  theories  like  these 
that  the  main  significance  of  indeterminism  has  lain.  In- 
deed, it  is  not  hard  to  see  that,  at  bottom,  determinism  and 
indeterminism  have  stood  for  very  much  the  same  thing.  The 
one  in  opposing  the  superstition  of  chance,  the  other  in 
insisting  that  man  is  not  the  helpless  sport  of  external  forces 
—  both  have  pointed  to  the  truth,  that  man's  character  is 
the  essential  cause  of  his  acts,  and  that  upon  this  causal 
relation  his  moral  responsibility  depends. 

REFERENCES 

GIZYCKI,  G.  VON,  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Ethics,  Ch.  VII. 
LOCKE,   J.,   Essay   concerning   Human    Understanding,   Book   II, 

Ch.  XXI. 

HUME,  D.,  Enquiry  concerning  Human  Understanding,  Sect.  VIII. 
GREEN,  T.  H.,  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  II,  Ch.  I. 
WUNDT,  W.,  Ethics,  Part  III,  Ch.  I,  Sect.  III. 
FISKE,  J.,  Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy,  Part  II,  Ch.  XVII. 
STEPHEN,  L.,  Science  of  Ethics,  Ch.  VII,  ii. 
ALEXANDER,  S.,  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  Book  III,  Ch.  Ill,  ii. 
HYSLOP,  J.  H.,  Elements  of  Ethics,  Ch.  IV. 
PAULSEN,  F.,  System  of  Ethics,  Book  II,  Ch.  IX. 
SIDGWICK,  H.,  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  I,  Ch.  V. 
SETH,  J.,  Ethical  Principles,  Part  III,  Ch.  I. 
RASHDALL,  H.,  Theory  of  Good  and  Evil,  Book  III,  Ch.  III. 
BERGSON,  H.,  Time  and  Free  Will,  especially  Ch.  III. 


CHAPTER  V 

GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS 

Classification.  —  Before  undertaking  a  systematic  study  of 
the  theories  of  morality,  it  will  be  well  for  us  to  take  a  brief 
survey  of  its  principal  varieties  and  phases.  In  the  intro- 
ductory chapter  we  noted  the  existence  of  two  sets  of  pred- 
icates, '  right '  and  '  wrong/  and  '  good  '  and  '  bad/  and 
called  attention  to  the  distinction  between  impersonal  and 
personal  morality  which  they  suggest.  For  our  present 
purpose  it  will  be  convenient  to  make  use  of  a  somewhat 
different  classification. 

In  the  first  place,  moral  values  may  be  thought  of  as  be- 
longing (1)  first  to  the  act  and  secondly  to  the  character  of 
the  man  who  would  commit  such  an  act ;  or  (2)  first  to  the 
character,  and  secondly  to  the  ways  of  acting  in  which  such 
a  character  shows  itself.  For  example,  it  is  wrong  to  steal, 
and  the  man  who  does  so  is  a  thief ;  and  it  is  good  to  relieve 
the  needy,  and  he  who  does  so  is  charitable.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  good  to  be  brave  and  to  be  master  of  one's 
passions,  and  the  deeds  by  which  one  evinces  these  traits 
are  in  so  far  praiseworthy.  The  distinction  is  largely  a 
matter  of  emphasis,  and  the  two  sides  shade  into  each  other ; 
but  the  extremes  are  well  marked. 

In  the  second  place,  where  the  moral  value  belongs  pri- 
marily to  the  act,  the  standard  by  which  it  is  judged  may  be 
(a)  a  definite  set  of  external  requirements,  to  which,  it  is 
thought,  men  ought  simply  to  conform,  regardless  of  aught 
else;  or  the  standard  may  be  (6)  the  happiness  of  one's 
fellow-men. 

66 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   67 


We  have,  then,  a  threefold  division  of  moral  standards. 

a.  Standards  of  Duty 


Moral 
Standards 


I.  Standards  applying 
primarily  to  the 
Act 


II.  Standards  applying 
primarily  to  the 
Agent 


b.  Standards  of  Benev- 
olence 


Standards  of  Virtue 


Here  I  a  corresponds  to  the  impersonal  morality  mentioned 
above ;  and  1 6  and  II  correspond  to  the  personal  morality. 

It  is  probable  that  all  three  kinds  of  standards  have  a 
place  in  the  morality  of  every  people,  civilized  or  uncivilized. 
But  among  some  peoples  one  kind  predominates;  among 
others,  another.  Thus  the  morality  of  the  ancient  Jews 
was  clearly  a  morality  of  duty,  and  that  of  the  Greeks  was 
quite  as  clearly  a  morality  of  virtue;  while  Christianity 
ushered  in  a  morality  in  which  the  standards  of  benevolence 
have  a  much  larger  part. 

la.   STANDARDS  OF  DUTY 
1.   Instinctive  and  Customary  Standards 

(1)  Instinctive  Standards.  —  Among  the  standards  of 
duty,  we  may  first  consider  certain  standards  which  appear 
to  have  a  direct  instinctive  source.  There  are  some  kinds 
of  conduct,  such  as  cannibalism  and  incest,  which  arouse 
in  most  men  an  instinctive  loathing  or  even  horror ;  and  this 
is  attended  with  a  feeling  of  intense  moral  disapproval. 

George  Sand  tells  a  story  of  a  company  of  wandering  actors 
shipwrecked  on  a  barren  rock  in  the  Adriatic  Sea.  They 
are  without  food,  and  death  by  starvation  is  imminent.  The 
captain  of  the  vessel  dies,  and  one  of  the  actors  throws  him- 
self upon  the  corpse  with  the  intention  of  devouring  it,  But 


68    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

the  leader  of  the  company  grapples  with  him,  and,  after  a 
desperate  struggle,  succeeds  in  throwing  the  body  into  the 
sea.  The  subordinate  actor  is  a  man  who  throughout  the 
narrative  is  everywhere  represented  as  thoroughly  contemp- 
tible ;  while  the  leader  is  pictured  as  a  noble  and  even  heroic 
figure;  and  their  acts  upon  this  occasion  are  evidently  re- 
garded by  the  writer  as  eminently  in  character.  It  might 
well  be  argued  (from  the  standpoint  of  benevolence)  that 
the  one  man  was  doing  exactly  what  the  occasion  required 
—  supporting  his  life  without  injury  to  anyone  else  —  while 
the  other  was  wickedly  wasting  a  most  valuable  food-supply ; 
but  that  is  not  the  way  that  George  Sand  expected  the  in- 
cident to  be  regarded  by  her  public. 

Religious  and  Magical  Sanctions.  —  If  we  ask  ourselves 
why  we  regard  such  acts  as  these  as  wrong,  the  answer  most 
obvious  to  the  psychologist  is  that  the  feeling  that  they  are 
wrong  has  sprung  from  the  sense  of  their  loathesomeness.1 
Other  reasons,  however,  are  more  often  given;  and  certain 
of  these  are  interesting,  as  showing  the  close  connection 
between  duty  and  benevolence.  These  reasons  mostly  fall 
under  the  two  heads  of  bad  magic  and  offended  deities.  In- 
cestuous love,  for  example,  is  often  regarded  as  bringing 
a  pollution  upon  the  culprits,  and  through  them  upon  their 
family  and  kindred,  or  even  upon  all  who  are  in  any  way 
connected  with  them.  For  magical  pollutions  are  catching 
(like  infectious  diseases)  and  a  whole  city  or  tribe  may  suffer 
from  them.  Or,  as  we  have  suggested,  some  deity  may  be 
particularly  averse  to  incest;  and  he,  like  the  infectious 
pollution,  is  apt  to  wreak  his  baleful  spite,  not  only  upon 
the  guilty  ones,  but  upon  all  their  kith  and  kin.  (Both  of 

1  The  reader  should  be  on  his  guard  against  supposing  that  because  the 
feeling  of  disgust  or  loathing  is  instinctive,  the  moral  judgment  or  sentiment 
is  likewise  instinctive.  The  latter  very  probably  develops  out  of  the  former, 
and  in  its  earlier  stages  cannot  be  clearly  distinguished  from  it.  But  the 
very  fact  that  the  moral  nature  of  the  feeling  is  the  product  of  a  psychological 
development  means  that  it  is  something  higher  than  mere  instinct. 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      69 

these  modes  of  explanation  become  more  and  more  refined  as 
culture  advances ;  but  they  then  take  on  forms  which  belong 
elsewhere  in  our  account.)  In  either  case  it  will  generally 
be  said  that  the  loathing  for  the  sin  is  due  to  the  universal 
fear  of  the  pollution  or  of  the  divine  displeasure  which  it 
causes.  The  psychologist,  however,  can  scarcely  doubt 
that  the  true  explanation  runs  the  other  way  —  that  the 
supposed  pernicious  consequences  of  the  sin  are  imaginative 
products  of  the  loathing  which  is  naturally  excites.  This 
distinguishes  standards  of  this  sort  from  those  which  are 
primarily  standards  of  benevolence. 

Crudeness  of  Such  Morality.  —  Conformity  to  standards 
such  as  these  is  the  crudest  form  of  morality  with  which  we 
have  to  deal.  It  shows  its  crudeness  in  many  ways.  Emo- 
tionally, the  sense  of  moral  condemnation  is  closely  fused 
with  the  feeling  of  loathing  or  horror.  Perhaps  as  a  conse- 
quence of  this,  little  distinction  is  made  between  intentional 
and  unintentional  wrong-doing.  The  man  who  unknowingly 
has  eaten  human  flesh  is  like  a  leper  even  in  his  own  eyes. 
According  to  the  Greek  story,  (Edipus  in  all  ignorance  kills 
his  father  in  self-defense,  and  soon  after,  in  equal  ignorance, 
marries  his  mother,  who  bears  four  children  to  him.  When 
many  years  later  the  facts  come  to  light,  his  horror  of  him- 
self is  such  that  he  puts  out  his  own  eyes.  It  may  be  added 
that  the  infectious  pollution  follows  upon  the  involuntary 
offense  just  as  upon  the  voluntary;  and  that  the  offended 
deity  looks  only  to  the  external  act,  and  cares  nothing  for 
the  motive.  On  the  other  hand,  the  infection  may  be  re- 
moved by  magical  devices  in  which  repentance  plays  no 
part ;  and  the  deity  likewise  may  be  bribed,  by  sacrificial 
offerings,  to  forego  his  vengeance. 

(2)  Customary  Standards.  —  Divided  from  the  foregoing 
by  a  very  uncertain  line  are  the  standards  set  by  long-es- 
tablished custom.  The  commission  of  adultery  offends 
against  no  human  instinct.  But  many  men  feel  toward  it 


70    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

an  aversion  which  is  weaker,  but  hardly  different  in  kind, 
from  that  which  they  feel  toward  incest;  and  their  moral 
condemnation  of  it  is  very  similar.  So  of  sacrilege,  of  obscen- 
ity, and,  among  many  peoples,  of  breaches  of  hospitality; 
and  so  also  of  a  host  of  other  offenses,  not  against  instinct, 
but  against  custom  that  has  become  well-nigh  as  strong  as 
instinct.  Other  customary  standards  are  regarded  less  seri- 
ously ;  so  that  a  whole  scale  of  offenses  may  be  devised,  rang- 
ing from  the  most  abominable  to  the  most  trivial. 

Relation  to  Instinctive  Standards.  —  We  have  said  that 
the  line  between  instinct  and  custom  is  uncertain.  All 
customs  are,  of  course,  in  the  last  resort  outgrowths  of  in- 
stinct, just  as  all  languages  are  outgrowths  of  the  instinctive 
ga  and  600  of  infancy.  But  because  we  cannot  point  to  a 
precise  time  when,  for  example,  mamma  changes  from  a 
mere  babbling  to  a  true  word,  we  do  not  therefore  deny  the 
reality  of  the  change.  At  the  same  time  it  must  be  confessed 
that,  as  applied  to  the  adult  man,  the  distinction  between 
instinct  and  custom  (or  habit)  is  merely  one  of  degree,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  scarcely  any  original  instinct  remains 
unmodified  in  the  adult  man.  Thus  the  instinctive  aversion 
to  cannibalism  is  fostered  by  all  manner  of  social  influences 
—  or  may,  on  the  contrary,  be  altogether  rooted  out.  So 
also,  while  incest  appears  to  be  naturally  horrible  to  us,  there 
is  nothing  natural  about  the  long  lists  of  '  prohibited  degrees  ' 
which  are  to  be  found  in  the  marriage  laws  of  many  peoples. 
As  far  as  ethics  is  concerned,  the  sole  point  of  importance 
here  is  this :  that  our  feelings  toward  '  unnatural '  sins  are 
apt  to  contain  so  powerful  an  element  of  sheer  disgust,  that 
any  definitely  moral  sentiment  is  apt  to  be  submerged, 
or  at  least  seriously  restrained  in  its  development.  For 
most  purposes  the  standards  derived  from  instinct  and  those 
derived  from  custom  may  be  regarded  as  alike  customary. 

Not  All  Customs  are  Moral  Standards.  —  It  is  obvious 
that  among  civilized  men  not  all  customs  are  viewed  as  having 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   71 

moral  significance.1  A  man  who  thoughtlessly  wanders  down- 
town without  his  hat  is  perhaps  the  most  uncomfortable 
creature  in  existence;  but  his  conscience  does  not  prick 
him.  An  eccentric  young  college  professor,  whose  health 
was  delicate,  tried  the  experiment  of  going  barefoot  during 
one  of  his  summer  vacations.  Walking  into  the  village 
post-office  one  day,  he  met  an  old  lady  friend,  and  accosted 
her.  "  Get  out  of  my  sight,"  cried  the  old  lady,  horrified. 
Yet,  as  she  told  the  story,  she  expressed  no  moral  condemna- 
tion of  the  young  man's  conduct.  It  was,  to  her,  simply 
disgusting. 

But  it  should  be  observed,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  line 
of  separation  is  not  clearly  marked.  Bad  taste  passes  easily 
into  indecency  and  immodesty.  And,  in  the  second  place, 
among  savages  the  line  practically  disappears,  and  it  may 
be  roughly  said  that  "  every  custom  constitutes  a  moral 
law."  Their  sense  of  right  and  wrong  is  in  all  things  guided 
by  the  modes  of  conduct  which  have  come  down  to  them 
from  their  ancestors. 

Sanctions.  —  The  iniquity  of  offenses  against  custom  is 
usually  conceived  in  much  the  same  fashion  that  we  have 
already  noted :  they  bring  pollution  or  the  displeasure  of 
supernatural  beings.  To  rob  or  murder  the  unsuspecting 
guest  is  an  infamy.  It  is  enough  to  put  a  curse  upon  the 
dwelling  where  it  was  committed,  from  which  the  inhabitants 
would  suffer  as  long  as  the  house  stood.  Better,  then,  let 
the  man  depart  in  peace  and  intercept  him  at  the  first  turn- 
ing of  the  road.  He  may  then  be  seized,  brought  back,  and 
held  for  ransom,  or  even  murdered  in  cold  blood,  and  no 
such  evil  be  incurred.  Petty  moral  offenses,  of  course,  bring 
ill-luck  or  divine  ill-favor  in  a  roughly  proportionate  measure. 

1  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  the  term  'custom'  is  used  in  a  narrow  sense,  so  as 
to  include  only  such  traditional  modes  of  behavior  as  are  felt  to  be  morally 
required.  (The  German  Sitte  and  the  French  mceurs  are  regularly  so  used.) 
In  that  case  '  customary  morality '  is  tautologous :  '  custom '  alone  expresses 
the  whole  idea. 


72    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Separation  of  Moral  Guilt  from  its  Consequences.  — 
As  men  become  more  reflective,  the  distinction  between 
moral  guilt  and  its  supernatural  consequences  is  drawn  and 
becomes  increasingly  clear.  We  have  observed  that  these 
consequences  may  fall  upon  innocent  and  guilty  alike. 
(Edipus  in  the  depth  of  his  misery  was  still  self-assured  that 
he  was  innocent  of  any  moral  wrong ;  and  his  sons  and  daugh- 
ters, who  in  various  ways  suffered  with  him,  were  even  more 
evidently  guiltless  of  the  crimes  of  parricide  and  incest. 
So  Orestes  would  have  been  held  a  craven  if  he  had  failed 
to  avenge  his  father's  death;  but  because  one  of  the  mur- 
derers on  whom  he  took  vengeance  was  his  own  mother,  the 
furies  pursued  him  none  the  less  relentlessly.  '  Wrong ' 
is  therefore  not  the  same  as  l  accursed/  It  denotes  a  pecul- 
iar quality  which  belongs  naturally  to  certain  kinds  of  volun- 
tary conduct.  And  it  is  senseless  to  ask  why  such  conduct 
is  wrong.  It  is  wrong  just  because  it  is  wrong.  Moreover, 
what  is  wrong  is  always  and  everywhere  wrong.  It  cannot 
be  right,  any  more  than  black  can  be  white  or  bitter  can  be 
sweet. 

Reduction  of  Morality  to  Convention.  —  The  develop- 
ment may,  however,  take  a  further  turn.  We  are  all  to  a 
great  extent  the  slaves  of  custom ;  but  the  uncivilized  man 
is  bound  by  it  far  more  closely  than  we  can  easily  imagine. 
His  whole  course  of  life  is  minutely  prescribed  and  hedged 
about  with  innumerable  taboos.  Civilization,  though  it 
introduces  many  new  notions  of  propriety,  dispels  many 
more ;  and  of  those  that  remain  an  increasing  part  are  viewed 
with  little  seriousness.  We  conform,  say,  because  non- 
conformity attracts  attention,  and  that  is  disagreeable;  or 
because  of  mere  inertia,  since  it  is  a  saving  of  energy  to  do  as 
others  do  without  tormenting  our  brains  to  think  of  novelties. 
But  to  the  savage,  and,  to  a  surprising  degree,  even  to  the 
comparatively  advanced  barbarian,  every  innovation  is  bad, 
and,  if  not  positively  immoral,  is  perilously  near  it. 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   73 

It  is  inevitable,  then,  that  the  reflection  should  occur, 
that  right  and  wrong,  just  and  unjust,  honorable  and  dis- 
honorable, are  only  other  names  for  customary  and  contrary 
to  custom;  the  custom  itself  being  explained  as  due  to  a 
more  or  less  arbitrary  convention.  What  tends  especially 
to  the  formation  of  this  conception  is  the  knowledge  of  other 
men  with  other  customs  and  likewise  other  moral  standards. 
As  commerce  increases,  and  diplomatic  intercourse  likewise 
extends,  the  most  diverse  traditions  are  brought  into  sudden 
and  striking  contrast.  The  first  result  is  a  mutual  contempt ; 
the  next  a  species  of  external  toleration  —  as  when  a  people 
are  willing  to  admit  that  polygamy  may  be  all  very  well 
for  their  neighbors,  but  would  condemn  to  death  or  exile 
the  man  who  attempted  it  among  themselves.  It  is  at  this 
stage  of  affairs  that  the  custom-conception  is  most  apt  to 
become  prominent;  and  it  may  help  to  bring  on  a  fur- 
ther stage,  the  breakdown  of  morality.  For  the  convention 
might  have  been  otherwise.  One  custom,  when  you  are  used 
to  it,  is,  it  is  felt,  as  good  as  another.  The  distinction  be- 
tween right  and  wrong  is  thus  illusory;  it  has  no  real  basis 
in  permanent  facts ;  and  the  man  of  sense  will  disregard  it 
as  often  as  his  convenience  requires. 

2.    Personal  Authority 

Distinction  between  Personal  Authority  and  Law.  — 
Among  uncivilized  men  there  is  no  one  who  is  looked  upon 
as  authorized  to  change  a  custom  or  modify  a  moral  require- 
ment. There  is  no  legislative  power.  The  mightiest  chief 
holds  his  authority  subject  to  time-honored  traditions. 
When,  in  exceptional  instances,  social  reforms  are  carried 
through,  the  leaders  usually  claim  that  they  are  simply 
restoring  an  ancient  custom  which  has  fallen  into  disuse, 
or  that  they  are  acting  as  the  mouthpiece  of  an  interested 
deity. 

There  are,  however,  persons  who  have  the  right  to  direct 


74    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

their  fellows  in  matters  which  custom  has  left  undetermined. 
They  have,  we  repeat,  no  legislative  power;  but  they  can 
issue  commands  and  injunctions  which  it  is  the  duty  of  the 
others  to  obey.  Why  are  these  not  laws?  In  the  first 
place,  because,  as  a  rule,  they  are  not  general  in  their  appli- 
cation, as  laws  are,  but  are  addressed  to  particular  men  on 
a  particular  occasion.  And,  in  the  second  place,  because, 
even  when  they  reach  beyond  the  particular  occasion,  they 
express  merely  the  ruler's  will ;  and  when  he  is  dead  or  de- 
prived of  power  they  lapse  at  once. 

Analogous  to  the  commands  of  the  chieftain  are  the  com- 
mands of  the  parent,  the  husband,  the  master.  It  is  the 
recognized  duty  of  the  child,  the  wife,  the  slave,  to  obey  — 
not  because  the  things  commanded  were  in  themselves 
obligatory,  or  because  the  things  forbidden  were  in  themselves 
wrong,  but  simply  because  he  who  is  in  authority  has  so 
ordered.  The  child,  for  example,  who  has  been  forbidden 
by  his  mother  to  eat  a  certain  kind  of  fruit,  begs  for  permis- 
sion to  do  so ;  and  if  the  permission  is  granted,  he  eats  the 
fruit  without  a  twinge  of  conscience. 

Relation  to  Custom.  —  There  is  no  clear  line  of  distinction 
between  this  morality  of  obedience  to  authority,  and  the 
morality  (above  treated)  of  compliance  with  custom.  The 
persons  who  are  obeyed  are  those  to  whom  customary  morality 
gives  the  right  to  command.  Sometimes  on  the  surface  this 
does  not  appear  to  be  the  case.  The  chief,  let  us  say,  has 
won  his  place  by  killing  his  predecessor.  The  husband  has 
tamed  his  wife  with  a  club.  And  the  slaves  and  children 
know  what  to  expect  if  they  are  caught  in  any  disobedience. 
But  it  will  generally  be  found  that  the  force  of  custom  is 
the  real  determining  factor  in  the  matter.  Men  may  submit 
to  a  usurping  chief  out  of  mere  fear,  without  feeling  that  he 
has  any  rightful  claim  upon  them,  and  while  eagerly  await- 
ing the  opportunity  of  casting  off  his  yoke.  And  the  like 
may  be  true  of  the  other  relations  which  we  have  mentioned. 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   75 

But  such  a  state  of  affairs  does  not  constitute  the  recognition 
of  authority,  of  a  right  to  rule  and  a  duty  to  obey.  And  this, 
we  say,  is  what  force  alone  does  not  produce.  Again,  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  personal  ascendancy,  by  which  one  man, 
without  the  use  or  display  of  force,  imposes  his  will  upon 
those  about  him.  But  this  is  far  from  constituting  authority. 
It  frequently  happens  that  those  who  obey  most  slavishly 
are  in  a  state  of  constant  resentment  against  the  personal 
influence  which  they  cannot  throw  off.  They  are  as  far 
as  possible  from  recognizing  obedience  as  a  duty.  And 
even  where  there  is  no  resentment,  the  sense  of  duty  may  be 
entirely  absent.  The  personal  ascendancy  of  the  wife,  for 
example,  may  keep  her  husband  in  complete  subjection, 
without  either  of  them  having  the  least  notion  that  it  is  his 
duty  to  obey  her. 

The  force  of  custom,  we  repeat,  is  a  necessary  factor  in 
the  constitution  of  authority.  Where,  for  example,  the 
chief  has  won  his  place  by  force,  it  will  be  found,  perhaps, 
that  the  traditional  sentiment  of  the  people  is  that  the  strong- 
est men  should  rule.  By  this  we  do  not  mean  simply  that 
as  a  matter  of  fact  the  strongest  man  generally  does  rule, 
but  that  custom  requires  that  he  shall  rule  and  makes  it 
wrong  to  resist  him.  Where  the  custom  is  different — where, 
for  example,  the  oldest  men  are  the  rightful  rulers  —  the 
strong  man  who  laid  hands  upon  his  honored  chief  would 
be  an  object  of  universal  detestation,  and  his  rule  would  in 
all  probability  be  short.  Or,  again,  the  usurper  may  es- 
tablish himself  in  power  by  seizing  the  traditional  symbols 
of  authority,  the  chief's  club  or  ring  or  robe  or  scepter ;  or 
he  may  be  initiated  into  his  office  by  the  rites  and  ceremonies 
which  tradition  requires. 

Again,  when  the  husband  beats  his  young  wife  into  sub- 
mission, why  does  she  not  kill  him  as  he  sleeps  and  make 
her  escape  to  her  own  people?  Because  she  and  they  alike 
believe  that  he  has  the  right  to  beat  her.  She  expects  to  be 


76    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

beaten;  and  having  been  beaten,  she  loves  him  none  the 
less  for  it.  And  he  too  feels  that  he  has  a  right  to  command 
and  to  require  obedience.  The  use  of  force  is  simply  a  means 
by  which  the  tradition  is  maintained. 

Much  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  part  which  personal 
ascendancy  plays.  It  is  almost  indispensable  to  the  success- 
ful ruler.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  the  possession  of  tradi- 
tional authority  is  in  itself  an  important  source  of  personal 
ascendancy.  The  office  gives  weight  to  the  man.  He  feels 
his  own  dignity;  and  the  added  self-importance  makes 
itself  felt  in  his  bearing,  and  that  tends  to  induce  a  suitable 
attitude  in  others.  In  any  case,  as  we  have  said,  personal 
ascendancy  does  not  amount  to  authority.  But  it  is  one  of 
the  most  potent  means  by  which  such  authority  as  tradi- 
tion sanctions  is  acquired  and  maintained. 

Divine  Authority.  —  An  especially  interesting  and  signifi- 
cant example  of  authority  is  that  of  a  god.  It  illustrates 
in  striking  fashion  the  principles  which  we  have  just  con- 
sidered. The  primitive  gods  have  no  legislative  function. 
They  do  not  alter  customary  standards  —  even  where  they 
are  regarded  as  the  protectors  of  those  standards.  A  god, 
for  example,  is  angered  by  inhospitality,  and  vents  his  anger 
upon  the  offender  and  his  household.  But  no  one  imagines 
that  he  might  have  bidden  men  be  inhospitable,  and  then 
have  been  angered  by  hospitality.  However,  the  gods  do 
issue  commands,  and  it  is  (generally  speaking)  the  duty  of 
men  to  obey.1  Why?  The  answer  is  analogous  to  the 
answer  in  the  case  of  human  authority.  They  are  wiser 
than  we,  and  stronger,  and  the  wise  and  strong  ought  to 

1  The  boundary-line  between  mere  authority  and  legislative  power  is,  of 
course,  much  more  tenuous  in  the  case  of  a  god  than  in  that  of  a  human  chief 
or  assembly.  For  he  is  immortal  and  exceedingly  wise  and  powerful ;  so 
that  there  is  no  set  term  to  his  commands,  such  as  death  or  infirmity  sets 
to  those  of  human  chiefs.  It  is  because  of  this  fact  that  early  law-makers 
so  often  claim  to  be  speaking  for  a  deity.  The  divine  authority  serves  as  a 
bridge  between  human  authority  and  legislation. 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   77 

rule.  We  are  their  property,  and  the  masters  ought  to  rule. 
We  are  their  creatures,  and  the  makers  (like  parents)  ought  to 
rule.  Or,  again,  we  are  their  creatures ;  and,  as  a  man,  per- 
sonifying the  work  of  his  hands,  expects  it  to  serve  his  pur- 
poses, so  the  gods  have  a  right  to  expect  us  to  serve  their 
purposes.  Aside  from  the  analogy  of  human  authority,  a 
man  owes  a  god  no  obedience;  though  he  may,  indeed,  stand 
in  awe  of  him  and  obey  his  behests  for  that  reason,  just  as 
he  might  be  cowed  into  obedience  to  a  man  whose  authority 
he  did  not  acknowledge. 

3.    The  Authority  of  Law 

Logically,  then,  the  duty  of  obedience  to  personal  authority 
is  simply  a  particular  case  of  the  duty  of  conformity  to 
a  customary  standard.1  And  yet  it  was  necessary  to 
give  a  distinct  account  of  it,  for  the  reason  that  the  par- 
ticular case  sometimes  develops  so  as  to  cover  the  whole 
field. 

The  Legislature.  —  As  we  have  said,  authority  is  at  first 
limited,  as  well  as  supported,  by  custom.  There  is  no 
authority  to  change  a  customary  standard.  With  the  rise 
of  states  this  limitation  begins  to  disappear,  or  at  least  to 
recede.  For  a  state  possesses  a  legislature;2  and  though 
this  legislature,  too,  in  the  last  resort,  owes  its  authority  to 
custom,  yet  it  comes  to  have  in  a  larger  and  larger  measure 
the  power  to  change  customs  —  even  those  customs  to  which 

1  The  question  may  be  asked,  whether,  in  the  case  of  obedience  to  parents, 
the  authority  may  not  be  due  to  instinct  rather  than  to  custom.  The 
answer  very  decisively  is  that  there  is  no  instinct  of  obedience.  Little 
children  have  to  learn  to  obey.  It  is  true  that  they  have  a  very  high  degree 
of  suggestibility;  and  this  is  of  good  service  in  teaching  them  obedience. 
But  unfortunately  their  suggestibility  is  often  largely  negative.  Telling  a 
child,  or  even  hinting  to  a  child,  to  do  one  thing  is  very  apt  to  make  it  wish 
to  do  just  the  opposite. 

J  It  should  be  observed  that,  as  the  term  is  here  used,  the  legislature  may 
consist  of  one  man,  or  of  a  limited  assembly,  or  of  the  whole  body  of  citizens. 
The  legislature  is  that  man  or  body  of  men  which  can  make  laws. 


78    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

in  earlier  times  the  strongest  moral  sentiments  have  attached. 
Thus  laws  are  passed  affecting  the  marriage-relation  and 
the  avenging  of  family  wrongs.1  To  be  sure,  there  are 
always  limits  to  this  power,  in  customary  standards  which 
are  too  strongly  intrenched  for  any  legislature  to  dare  attack. 
But,  especially  where  the  legislature  consists  of  the  whole 
body  of  citizens,  this  limitation  is  for  the  most  part  unfelt, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  no  large  part  of  the  assembly 
is  likely  to  wish  to  legislate  against  their  deepest  moral 
convictions.  To  act  wrongly  under  great  temptation  is 
human,  and  states  as  well  as  individuals  do  so.  But 
deliberately  to  authorize  what  is  universally  felt  to  be 
wrong-doing,  or  deliberately  to  forbid  what  the  common 
moral  sentiment  requires,  is  another  and  far  more  serious 
thing;  and  legislatures  seldom  desire  to  do  it.  Thus,  we 
repeat,  the  limit  to  the  legislative  power  is  unfelt;  and 
more  and  more  in  the  mind  of  the  people  the  distinction 
between  right  and  wrong  comes  to  be  merged  with  the 
distinction  between  what  the  law  of  the  land  permits  and 
what  it  forbids. 

Natural  and  Divine  Law.  —  But  the  two  distinctions 
never  entirely  coalesce.  In  the  first  place,  there  are  moral 
standards  of  which  the  state  takes  no  account  —  often  by 
reason  of  their  pettiness.  And,  besides,  there  are  moral 
standards  by  which  the  legislator,  in  the  very  act  of  changing 
the  law  of  the  land,  feels  himself  bound.  Men  in  general 
are  '  just '  or  '  unjust '  according  as  they  obey  or  disobey 
the  laws.  But  the  laws  themselves  are  appraised  as  '  just ' 
or  '  unjust '  laws  —  evidently  with  reference  to  some  higher 
standard.  Again,  the  laws  of  the  land,  much  as  they  may 

1  The  state  of  New  York  permits  the  marriage  of  uncle  and  niece,  or  aunt 
and  nephew.  Not  many  such  marriages  are  performed  —  custom  is  too 
strongly  against  it.  But  where  they  are  performed,  public  indignation 
against  the  act  is  very  slight.  The  provision  of  the  law  is  accepted  as  a 
moral  justification. 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   79 

change,  preserve  a  certain  likeness.  Never,  for  example, 
is  murder,  theft,  or  adultery  freely  permitted.  And,  simi- 
larly, as  the  laws  of  different  states  are  compared  and  their 
specific  differences  are  noted,  their  larger  similarities  also 
come  into  view ;  and  in  a  more  or  less  vague  way  it  is  recog- 
nized that  some  things  are  unlawful  the  whole  world  over, 
while  others  are  lawful  in  one  place  and  unlawful  in  another. 
In  these  ways  arises  the  notion  of  a  natural  law,  universal 
and  changeless;  and  because  there  can  be  no  law  without 
a  legislator,  and  the  natural  laws  have  the  support  of  the 
most  ancient  religious  sanctions,  they  are  inevitably  regarded 
as  divine  laws. 

The  divine  law  easily  embraces  the  whole  of  morality  — 
if  one  leaves  out  of  account  the  general  duty  to  obey  the 
divine  law  itself,  which  must,  of  course,  rest  upon  some  other 
basis.  But  this  exception  is  easily  overlooked;  and  it 
is  not  at  all  uncommon  for  men  to  regard  all  morality  as 
consisting  in  obedience  to  the  arbitrary  will  of  the  gods. 
(By  '  arbitrary '  I  mean  that  it  is  supposed,  not  that 
the  gods  forbid  murder  because  it  is  wrong,  but  that 
murder  is  wrong  simply  and  solely  because  they  forbid 
it.)  Mere  custom  is  not  thought  of  as  establishing  a 
moral  standard.  Where  the  custom  has  not  been  divinely 
ordained,  it  is  at  best  indifferent,  and  is  only  too  apt  to 
be  a  serious  corruption  of  the  right  and  proper  manner 
of  life. 

The  Moral  Law  Hypostatized.  —  In  conclusion,  we  must 
note  that  sometimes  the  notion  of  a  legislator  falls  into 
abeyance,  and  the  moral  law  is  looked  upon  as  having,  so 
to  speak,  an  existence  in  itself.  It  is  hypostatized  —  an 
eternal  law  without  a  law-giver.  God  himself  is  subject 
to  it,  although,  since  he  is  absolutely  good,  it  is  no  con- 
straint upon  him.  To  say  that  God  is  just  would  have  no 
meaning,  if  conformity  to  the  eternal  law  were  not  his  duty 
as  it  is  ours. 


80    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

16.  THE  STANDARDS  OF  BENEVOLENCE 
1.    Ideality  of  Benevolence  and  Virtue 

Benevolence  and  Virtue  set  no  Definite  Exactions.  —  The 
moral  values  which  we  have  yet  to  consider  differ  from  the 
foregoing  in  one  most  striking  respect.  Their  standards 
are  ideal.  An  imperative  of  duty  must  be  fairly  clear  and 
explicit  —  as  doubt  increases,  duty  fades  away  —  and  it 
must  not  be  impossible  of  complete  fulfillment.  But  the 
standards  of  benevolence,  and  still  more  the  standards  of 
virtue,  or  self -development  (which  we  are  to  take  up  last), 
are  not  capable  of  exact  statement.  Their  spirit  may  be  set 
forth  in  words,  and  has  in  fact  found  its  expression  in  prov- 
erbs that  are  among  the  most  precious  heritages  of  the 
race;  such,  for  example,  as  the  old  priestly  maxim,  which 
Jesus  regarded  as  almost  the  finest  in  the  Mosaic  writings : 
"  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself."  But  you  must 
not  ask  for  definitions  of  terms.  If  you  do,  the  only  answer 
is  a  story.  That  is  because  the  morality  of  benevolence  (for 
example)  does  not  exact  any  definite  course  of  conduct.  It 
does  not  exact  anything.  Whatever  is  felt  as  an  exaction  is 
duty.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  sets  no  bounds  to  the  gift 
of  love  —  except  an  absolute  self-surrender.  So  also  the 
morality  of  virtue  exacts  nothing ;  but  it  sets  no  bounds  to 
human  aspiration  —  except  the  perfection  of  the  all-wise 
and  all-powerful  God.  Accordingly,  the  question  of  pos- 
sibility does  not  arise.  Moral  valuation  is  here  the  measur- 
ing of  the  actual  by  the  ideal. 

Measurement  by  an  Ideal  need  not  be  Condemnation.  — 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  valuation  is  necessarily 
negative,  as  if  in  the  light  of  the  ideal  all  things  were  to  be 
condemned.  That  is  a  position  which  is  sometimes  taken 
by  men  of  a  juristic  frame  of  mind,  who  have  become  con- 
scious of  the  infinitude  of  the  standards  of  love  and  perfection. 
Such  men  interpret  these  as  infinite  duties;  and  since  they 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   81 

find  no  one  who  fulfills  such  duties,  they  pronounce  all  men 
(themselves,  of  course,  included)  to  be  utterly  and  altogether 
vile.  But  this  is  to  mistake  the  nature  of  the  ideal ;  just  as 
it  would  be  mistaking  the  nature  of  ideal  beauty  to  declare 
that  every  flower  that  blows  is  utterly  and  altogether  ugly. 
Ideals  are  realized  in  things ;  realized,  to  be  sure,  in  varying 
degrees,  but  not  less  truly  realized  for  that.  Just  as  there  is 
beauty  in  the  common  flower,  so  there  is  kindness  in  the 
common  man.  So  far  from  implying  universal  condemna- 
tion, the  judgment  by  an  ideal  standard  tends  rather  to  lead 
to  an  enlargement  of  sympathetic  appreciation.  The  best 
judge  is  he  who  sees  what  good  there  is  in  everything.  Not 
that  disapproval  is  done  away  with.  But  the  more  it  is 
reflective,  the  more  it  is  qualified,  just  as  approval  is  qualified. 
Doing  More  than  One's  Duty.  —  The  ideal  standards  of 
benevolence  and  virtue  stand  in  a  peculiar  relation  to  certain 
of  the  standards  of  duty ;  and  it  is  this  that  has  given  rise 
to  the  old  dispute,  whether  a  man  can  do  more  than  his  duty. 
There  are  certain  degrees  of  kindness  and  loyalty,  courage 
and  good  sense,  which  we  expect  from  men;  and  there  are 
common  manifestations  of  these  qualities  that  we  regard  as 
a  normal  and  reasonable  requirement.  They  are  distinctly 
duties.  This  is  the  case,  for  example,  in  the  relations  of 
father  and  child.  It  is  the  recognized  duty  of  the  father  to 
provide  for  the  support  of  the  child ;  and  the  latter  has  his 
reciprocal  duties.  So  long  as  the  conduct  remains  at  this 
level  the  ideal  standards  of  benevolence  are  not  applied ;  or, 
if  they  are  applied,  the  judgment  is  one  of  indifference,  or  of 
very  mild  approval.  To  earn  money  with  which  to  buy 
bread  and  shoes  for  one's  children  is  '  simply  doing  one's 
duty.'  But  beyond  the  limits  of  all  such  duty  there  is  an 
unmeasured  scope  for  loving  care  that  cannot  be  reduced 
to  duty,  and  does  not  need  to  be.  It  is  not  felt  as  duty 
by  the  man  himself.  It  is  not  looked  upon  as  duty  by 
others.  The  morality  is  of  another,  freer  type.  On  the 


82    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

other  hand,  the  neglect  of  parental  duties  is  a  form  of  cruelty. 
Thus  arises  the  peculiar  relation  to  which  reference  has  been 
made.  The  performance  of  duty  (as  thus  conceived)  coin- 
cides with  the  indifference-point  between  kindness  and  cruelty. 
The  like  might  be  said  of  the  relation  of  duty  to  courage  and 
cowardice,  or  to  wisdom  and  folly.  To  do  merely  one's  duty 

—  to  do  merely  what  any  set  of  external  standards  require 

—  is  to  fail  to  interest  the  idealizing  conscience  at  all. 

In  answer,  then,  to  the  old  query,  whether  a  man  can  do 
more  than  his  duty,  we  may  say :  No,  so  long  as  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  duty.  A  man  can  do  more  than  his  duty,  only  when 
the  question  behind  his  conduct  is  such  as  this :  What  is 
best  for  my  child,  my  friend,  my  country?  or,  How  shall  I 
be  true  to  my  manhood  ? 

2.  Benevolence  in  General 

Grades  of  Benevolence.  —  Happiness,  or  unhappiness, 
the  value  of  a  condition  of  life  considered  as  a  whole,  contains 
many  factors  of  varying  complexity.  To  try  to  make  a  man 
happy  may  be  to  devote  oneself  to  his  amusement,  to  assist 
him  in  his  business,  to  improve  his  taste,  to  convert  him  to 
the  true  religion,  or  —  any  one  of  a  thousand  things.  What- 
ever goods  there  are  in  human  life,  it  is  morally  right  and 
good  to  help  our  fellow-men  acquire  them.  The  morality, 
therefore,  is  of  many  grades,  according  to  the  kind  of  good 
which  is  in  question.  We  need  not  attempt  a  classification 
here.  Perhaps  a  satisfactory  classification  would  be  beyond 
our  powers.  Lowest  of  all,  no  doubt,  is  the  imparting  of  an 
idle  pleasure.  Highest  of  all  we  would  surely  rank  the  en- 
deavor to  make  men  morally  better. 

Flexibility  of  the  Standards  of  Benevolence.  —  Whereas 
the  standards  of  duty  are  hard  and  fast  prescriptions,  chang- 
ing, to  be  sure,  but  always  resisting  change,  the  standards 
of  benevolence  are  adaptability  itself.  Duty  looks  above 
and  beyond  the  particular  case;  benevolence  is  immersed 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   83 

in  it.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  they  supplement  each  other 
so  admirably.  But  they  sometimes  conflict.  The  shoe- 
maker-saint, who  stole  leather  that  he  might  make  shoes 
for  the  poor,  is  a  familiar  illustration ;  and  our  experience  is 
filled  with  similar  temptations.  "  To  do  a  great  right  do  a 
little  wrong,"  is  the  constant  plea.  Many  excellent  men  have 
held  that  on  such  an  occasion  duty  ought  always  to  have  the 
preference.  Formally  they  are  right,  of  course;  for  it  is 
mere  tautology  to  say  that  a  man  '  ought  always  to  do  his 
duty/  But  when  it  comes  to  actual  practice  the  common 
sense  of  humanity  is  against  them.  Summum  jus,  summa 
injuria.  The  particular  circumstances  cannot  be  utterly 
ignored.  Why  this  is  true,  and  how  far  it  is  true,  we  shall 
try  to  determine  hereafter. 

The  Direction  of  Benevolence  set  by  Duty.  —  One  im- 
portant relation  between  duty  and  benevolence  is  this :  that, 
for  the  most  part,  duty  fixes  the  general  limits  within  which 
benevolence  is  exerted.  A  man  seldom  or  never  stands  in  a 
perfectly  uniform  relation  to  all  those  by  whom  he  is  sur- 
rounded. There  are  some  whose  happiness  is  of  especial 
concern  to  him ;  and  this  is  wholly  proper.  If  he  treats  his 
own  son  and  his  neighbor's  son  alike,  he  is  probably  not 
treating  either  rightly.  In  other  words,  there  are  duties  of 
benevolence.  These  do  not  exhaust  the  life  of  kindness,  but 
they  do  give  it  its  general  direction.  If  dutifulness  without 
benevolence  is  hard,  benevolence  divorced  from  a  sense  of 
duty  is  weak  and  unmanly.  It  does  not  even  command 
gratitude  from  those  who  receive  its  benefits,  much  less  the 
approval  of  disinterested  observers. 

3.  The  Objects  of  Benevolence 
(1)  Benevolence  to  Individuals 

Benevolence  is  extended  primarily  to  individuals,  and  in 
normal  characters  it  never  wholly  loses  this  primitive  per- 
sonal touch.  It  shows  itself  in  acts  of  kindness  in  which 


84    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

the  happiness  of  particular  persons  is  the  only  object  in 
view. 

Biological  Significance.  —  Man  is  a  social  animal ;  and 
there  is  a  strong  tendency  in  him  to  sympathetic  feelings  of 
joy  and  sorrow;  and  with  these  sympathetic  feelings  are 
connected  the  impulse  to  relieve  distress  and  impart  pleasure. 
But  man's  life,  even  among  the  lowest  savages,  is  almost 
everywhere  far  more  social  than  that  for  which  organic 
evolution  has  fitted  him  —  as  we  may  infer  from  the  study 
of  his  nearest  relatives  among  the  apes  —  and  the  course 
of  civilization  has  generally  tended  to  bring  him  into  larger 
and  more  complex  relations  with  his  fellows.  This  has  in- 
volved a  constantly  increasing  exercise  of  sympathy.  There 
is  no  reason  to  think  that  in  this  development  man's  inborn 
sympathetic  tendency  has  become  stronger,  any  more  than 
his  eyesight  or  his  hearing.  How,  then,  has  its  operation 
been  so  greatly  increased  ?  In  the  first  place,  the  establish- 
ment of  any  sort  of  lasting  relation  between  man  and  man 
helps  them  to  imagine  each  other's  case,  and  is  thus  a  fa- 
vorable condition  for  sympathetic  emotion.  In  the  second 
place,  an  important  factor  in  the  result  has  been  morality. 
Moral  approval  and  disapproval  have  reenforced  natural 
sympathy  and  helped  it  to  subdue  opposing  influences. 
Some  ethicists  would  say  that  this  is  the  chief  function  of 
morality ;  it  is  at  any  rate  a  very  important  function. 

Relation  of  Benevolence  to  Love.  —  It  has  just  been  said 
that  any  sort  of  lasting  relation  between  men  tends  to  facil- 
itate sympathy.  This  is  seen  in  the  members  of  the  family, 
the  community,  the  state,  and  all  manner  of  voluntary  as- 
sociations. Especially  favorable  to  sympathy  is  the  very 
complex  group  of  sentiments  to  which  the  name  '  love,'  in 
one  of  its  uses,  is  attached.  All  this  is  recognized  in  our 
moral  standards.  Love  makes  sacrifices  praiseworthy, 
which  without  it  would  be  folly ;  and  it  makes  reservations 
ignoble,  which  without  it  would  be  most  proper.  Love  is 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      85 

not  morality.  It  may  even  be  markedly  vicious.  But  love 
and  morality  are  close  coadjutors;  and  one  of  the  best 
fruits  of  morality  is  the  capacity  for  strong  and  enduring 
love. 

(2)  Devotion  to  an  Institution 

Benevolence  Universalized.  —  Though  benevolence  begins 
with  the  individual,  it  does  not  stop  there.  It  universalizes 
itself  in  two  ways  :  first,  as  devotion  to  an  institution ;  and, 
secondly,  as  devotion  to  a  cause.  These  two  forms  of  benev- 
olence are  not  always  easily  .distinguishable  from  each 
other;  as  when  an  institution  stands  for  a  single  definite 
cause.  There  is  a  difference,  however.  Vassar  and  Wellesley 
colleges  are  both  institutions  for  the  higher  education  of 
women ;  yet  one  may  love  the  one  and  despise  the  other. 
Often,  too,  an  institution  has  many  aims,  and  yet  keeps  its 
individuality  in  the  prosecution  of  them  all.  A  family  and  a 
community  are  institutions  of  this  kind ;  and  so  also  is  that 
supreme  institution,  a  nation-state.  To  love  one's  country 
includes  an  interest  in  a  thousand  causes. 

Preference  of  the  Wider  Institution.  —  It  is  generally 
felt  that  as  institutions  increase  in  magnitude,  devotion  to 
them  increases  in  moral  value.  The  community,  for  ex- 
ample, is  more  than  the  family,  and  the  state  is  more  than 
the  community,  and  they  should  be  preferred  one  to  another 
accordingly.  Some  moralists  have  exalted  this  into  a  uni- 
versal moral  rule;  but  in  that  form  it  will  not  hold.  The 
narrower  institution  has  its  claims  upon  our  goodwill  even 
as  against  the  broader,  as  our  common  moral  standards  recog- 
nize. The  well-known  French  law,  which  exempts  from 
military  service  a  widow's  only  son,  may  serve  to  illustrate 
this  point. 

So  also  the  individual  has  his  claims  upon  us,  as  against 
institutions  of  every  grade.  Sometimes  devotion  to  an 
institution  hardens  a  man's  heart  against  particular  individ- 
uals. A  patriot  may  be  led  by  his  patriotism  to  be  a  ruth- 


86    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

less  oppressor  of  the  poor.  But  though  such  men  may  be 
pardonable  we  certainly  have  no  great  admiration  for  them. 
Devotion  to  Humanity.  —  There  is  an  institution  in  the 
making  which  is  wider  than  the  state :  humanity.  By 
'  humanity  '  we  do  not  mean  simply  all  men,  but  all  men  as 
organized  in  some  fashion  into  a  real  whole  which  can  claim 
our  allegiance.  In  many  ways  this  organization  is  going 
forward :  through  the  improvement  of  the  means  of  com- 
munication, the  extension  of  travel  and  commerce  and  dip- 
lomatic intercourse,  the  growth  of  unions,  the  universal 
news-service,  the  international  circulation  of  the  master- 
pieces of  literature,  music,  and  painting.  It  means  much, 
when,  for  example,  funds  can  be  raised  in  America  for  edu- 
cational institutions  in  Turkey  or  India.  In  some  minds, 
at  least,  the  conception  of  a  common  good  of  the  human 
race  is  growing  up,  and  is  inspiring  a  benevolence  of  the 
noblest  order. 

(3)  Devotion  to  a  Cause 

Very  similar  remarks  may  be  made  with  reference  to  the 
other  form  of  universalized  benevolence :  devotion  to  a 
cause.  There  are  causes  which  affect  the  welfare  of  great 
numbers  of  men :  civil  liberty,  popular  education,  the  equali- 
zation of  wealth  or  opportunity,  prohibition,  etc.  Such  a 
cause  may  very  largely  absorb  a  man's  benevolence.  In- 
stead of  feeling  for  the  separate  individuals  as  such,  he  masses 
them  under  general  conceptions.  When  the  individuals' 
own  private  joys  and  sorrows  do  come  into  the  account,  it  is 
as  significant  illustrations  of  widespread  conditions. 

As  compared  with  the  more  primitive  personal  benevo- 
lence, the  devotion  to  a  cause  has  both  its  advantages  and 
its  disadvantages,  and  both  are  sufficiently  obvious.  It  is, 
so  to  speak,  longer  and  narrower  in  its  scope.  Ordinarily 
we  regard  it  as  the  higher,  nobler  form ;  but  when,  as  some- 
times happens,  it  results  in  a  hardening  of  the  heart  to  im- 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      87 

mediate  influences,  we  attribute  much  less  merit  to  it.  Nay, 
in  extreme  cases,  it  may  even  be  regarded  as  a  vice.  The 
physician  who,  in  the  cause  of  human  health,  experiments 
upon  the  bodies  of  his  helpless  and  confiding  patients,  is 
looked  upon  rather  as  a  monster  than  as  a  benefactor  of  the 
race.  If  we  are  to  be  fair,  however,  we  must  remember  that 
in  a  very  similar  way  an  absorbing  love  for  a  few  persons 
may  make  one  insensible  to  the  needs  of  others.  "  None 
so  selfish  as  the  father  of  a  family."  And  ordinarily  it  is 
well  that  this  is  so.  If  men  did  not  love  narrowly  and  in- 
tensely, and  did  not  become  absorbed  in  single,  definite  aims, 
the  world  would  be  much  the  poorer  in  consequence. 

(4)  Devotion  to  a  Representative 

Personal  Loyalty.  —  There  is  a  peculiar  type  of  benevo- 
lence which  unites  in  itself  the  characteristics  of  individual 
and  collective  benevolence,  and  which  historically  has  often 
marked  the  development  of  the  latter  from  the  former.  It 
is  devotion  to  the  representative  of  an  institution  or  a  cause. 
In  the  person  of  the  representative,  the  values  of  the  complex 
institution  or  abstract  cause  are  embodied  in  the  most  vivid 
and  moving  form.  For  illustration  we  need  think  only  of 
the  power  which  loyalty  to  a  king  or  chief  has  been  in  the 
world. 

The  Love  of  a  God.  —  The  place  which  the  love  of  a  god 
has  had  in  the  moral  life  is  similar.  A  god  may  be  loved  as 
the  god  of  one's  fathers,  the  god  of  one's  country,  the  god  of 
one's  salvation,  the  god  of  humanity  —  generally  speaking, 
the  institution  which  seems  to  be  of  supreme  value  in  life. 
He  is  not  loved  from  personal  acquaintance.  To  be  sure,  a 
certain  notion  of  his  character  is  spread  abroad  among  the 
people  —  much  like  the  legendary  character  which  a  mon- 
arch is  given  in  the  popular  consciousness  —  and  this  awakens 
an  enthusiasm  of  loyalty.  But  this  notion  itself  obviously 
arises  from  the  cause  or  institution  for  which  the  god  stands. 


88    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

The  God  of  Humanity.  —  By  Christians  the  love  of  God 
has  generally  been  regarded  as  the  supreme  form  of  benev- 
olence. Among  free-thinking  moralists  the  love  of  human- 
ity is  generally  accorded  the  highest  place.  The  difference 
is  not  without  its  importance ;  but  this  is  less  than  might  be 
supposed.  For  the  God  of  Christianity  is  a  God  of  humanity. 
He  represents  all  of  the  highest  interests  of  mankind,  as  the 
believers  understand  them.  For  them,  to  love  God  and  to 
love  humanity  are  inseparable. 

We  have  again  to  observe  here  what  we  have  observed 
before :  that  the  higher  without  the  lower  is  held  of  little 
account,  or  its  genuineness  is  denied.  "  How  shall  ye  love 
God  whom  ye  have  not  seen,  if  ye  love  not  your  brother  whom 
ye  have  seen?"  The  higher  benevolence  is  an  outgrowth 
from  the  lower ;  and  when  the  lower  dies,  the  higher  cannot 
maintain  its  vigor  and  purity. 

II.  THE  STANDARDS  OF  VIRTUE 
1.   The  Kinds  of  Virtue 

We  have  considered  morality  as  conformity  to  a  given 
external  standard,  and  as  devotion  to  another's  welfare. 
We  have  now  to  consider  the  immediate  value  of  moral 
character  in  itself,  or  virtue. 

Further  Classification.  —  Virtue  is  of  two  kinds.  The 
first  kind,  comprising  justice  and  love  (or  charity),  simply 
repeats  the  standards  of  duty  and  benevolence,  looked  at,  how- 
ever, from  a  different  point  of  view.  The  fulfillment  of 
duty,  for  example,  is  no  longer  regarded  as  the  mere  satis- 
faction of  a  foreign  demand.  It  is  a  pride  and  a  pleasure. 
"  His  delight  is  in  the  law  of  the  Lord."  And  similarly  of 
the  fulfillment  of  specific  duties.  Honesty,  veracity,  chas- 
tity, are  viewed  as  treasures  of  the  soul,  of  incalculable  value 
to  the  possessor,  and  beautiful  in  the  eyes  of  the  beholder. 
So,  too,  of  the  various  forms  of  benevolence.  These  are  not 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   89 

a  mere  robbing  of  the  self  to  make  others  rich ;  they  are  riches 
in  themselves. 

The  other  kind  of  virtue  (with  which  we  shall  here  be  more 
particularly  concerned)  consists  of  certain  qualities  of  mind 
which,  in  some  degree,  are  necessary  to  all  morality  —  quali- 
ties without  which  one  cannot  be  consistently  honest  or 
chaste  or  obedient,  or  kind  or  loyal.  Thus  they  present,  as 
it  were,  a  cross-division  of  morality.  These  qualities  are 
comprised  under  the  general  heads  of  courage,  temperance,  and 
wisdom. 

(1)  Courage 

Definition. — By  'courage/  as  the  term  is  here  used,  is 
not  meant  fearlessness,  whether  due  to  impassivity,  ignorance 
of  danger,  confidence  in  one's  own  strength  or  skill,  or  natural 
buoyancy  of  spirits.  The  brave  man  may  be  fearless,  but  he 
may  also  be  nervous,  cautious,  self-distrustful,  and  pessimis- 
tic. The  more  fear  a  man  feels,  the  more  need  he  has  for 
courage.  Courage  is  the  strength  of  determination  that 
cannot  be  moved  from  its  course  by  pain  or  fear. 

Kinds  of  Courage.  —  Courage  is  said  to  be  of  various 
kinds  according  to  the  sort  of  pain  or  danger  which  it  resists. 
Some  men  will  face  physical  injury  without  hesitation,  who 
cannot  bear  the  thought  of  disgrace.  Some,  whom  no  threats 
against  themselves  can  move,  are  made  cowards  when  wife 
or  child  is  concerned.  There  are  limits,  no  doubt,  to  every 
man's  endurance;  and  the  nearer  limits  are  in  different 
directions  for  different  men. 

But  of  far  greater  importance  for  ethics  is  the  difference  in 
the  quality  of  courage  due  to  difference  in  the  motives  by 
which  the  resistance  to  pain  or  danger  is  inspired.  Lowest 
in  the  scale  are  the  instincts  of  self-preservation.  A  cornered 
rat  will  fight ;  and  a  human  coward  in  a  corner  may  look  very 
much  like  a  hero.  A  man  may  also  be  brave  for  gain  or 
glory ;  the  latter  motive  being  considered  much  the  nobler. 
But  the  moral  courage,  which  alone  is  essentially  good,  is 


90    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

inspired  by  the  sense  of  duty,  or  by  benevolence,  or  by  an 
ideal  of  character. 

In  What  Sense  Courage  is  a  Virtue.  —  The  difficulty  has 
often  been  raised,  that  courage  cannot  be  a  virtue,  because  it 
can  be  displayed  by  the  worst  of  men  in  the  most  vicious 
pursuits.  But  the  objection  is  unsound.  For  courage  is  a 
virtue,  not  in  the  sense  that  whoever  has  it  is  morally  good, 
or  that  whatever  is  done  with  it  is  morally  right,  but  in  the 
sense  that  it  is  a  necessary  quality  of  the  good  man,  and  that 
on  countless  occasions  a  man  cannot,  unless  he  is  brave,  do 
what  is  just  or  kind.  Not  every  villain  is  a  coward,  —  not 
by  any  means,  —  but  every  coward  is  a  villain.  Without 
moral  courage,  no  high  degree  of  justice  or  benevolence  is 
possible. 

Is  Moral  Courage  Sufficient  ?  —  The  question  may  be 
asked,  whether  a  man  who  possessed  moral  courage  and 
was  a  coward  in  all  other  respects  could  be  called  a  brave 
and  good  man.  At  first  sight  the  question  appears  to  be  a 
fair  one ;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  of  a  kind  to  which  a 
direct  answer  cannot  be  given.  It  is  much  as  if  one  should 
ask  whether,  if  a  man's  moral  nature  were  separated  bodily 
from  the  rest  of  his  character  and  given  to  another  man,  it 
would  still  retain  its  old  significance  and  value.  We  could 
only  answer  yes  and  no  at  once.  For  this  condition  is  an 
inconceivable  one.  Character  is  not  divided  into  distinct 
sections ;  and  in  particular  the  moral  character  (as  we  shall 
hereafter  see)  is  most  intimately  connected  with  all  the  other 
sides  of  man's  complex  nature.  A  man  is  not  born  morally 
good ;  he  becomes  so  only  through  a  process  of  educational 
development.  And  it  is  not  to  be  thought  that  up  to  a 
certain  point  in  that  development  he  shows  no  power  of  self- 
control  in  the  presence  of  danger,  and  then  instantly  exhibits 
such  power  in  a  high  degree.  No,  a  man  who  is  distinguished 
by  courage  of  the  moral  type  is  bound  to  be  a  brave  man 
generally  —  not  in  all  things,  for  we  all  have  our  weaknesses, 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   91 

but  for  the  most  part.  This  is  why,  although  only  moral 
courage  is  essentially  good,  no  one  in  his  ideal  of  virtue  fails 
to  include  non-moral  courage  also. 

The  Primitive  Conception  of  Courage.  —  In  fact,  among 
peoples  of  a  low  degree  of  culture,  no  distinction  between 
moral  courage  and  the  lower  grades  of  courage  is  formed. 
Courage  with  them  means,  of  course,  preeminently  courage 
in  war,  where  a  man  exposes  his  life  for  the  safety  or  glory  of 
his  clan ;  and  no  effort  is  made  to  distinguish  whether  this 
is  due,  say,  to  self-confidence  in  superior  strength  or  skill,  to 
an  overmastering  desire  for  glory,  or  to  patriotic  devotion. 
And  so  what  appears  to  be  the  same  quality,  when  exhibited 
in  a  private  quarrel  or  even  in  an  act  of  treason,  is  still  virtue 
and  is  admired  as  such.  Furthermore,  even  the  physical 
qualities  of  bulk  and  strength  are  not  definitely  set  off  from 
the  mental  quality  of  courage,  as  if  the  latter  were  a  moral 
excellence  and  the  former  not.  The  physical  and  moral 
qualities  are  ranked  together.  Strength  and  courage  make  a 
valuable  man,  just  as  (we  may  add)  beauty  and  industry 
make  a  valuable  woman.  The  case  is  thus  much  the  same 
as  we  found  with  respect  to  certain  customary  standards  of 
duty.  The  moral  sentiment  is  not  clearly  differentiated  from 
feelings  and  sentiments  of  a  lower  order. 

(2)  Temperance 

Definition.  —  As  courage  is  strength  of  determination  in 
the  face  of  threatening  pains,  so  temperance  is  strength  of 
determination  in  the  face  of  inviting  pleasures.  It  does  not 
mean  insensibility  to  pleasure  or  self-denial  for  the  denial's 
sake.  It  means  that  a  man  cannot  be  swayed  by  the  near- 
ness and  accessibility  of  a  lesser  good  to  give  up  a  greater 
good  for  it. 

Relation  to  Courage.  —  Temperance  is  the  same  quality 
of  mind  as  courage,  seen  from  a  different  point  of  view.  This 
seems  hard  to  realize,  when  we  see  a  man  who  has  shown  him- 


92    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

self  brave  yielding  to  temptation.  But  in  just  the  same  way  a 
man  who  has  shown  himself  brave  before  one  danger  may  flee 
from  another;  and  so  also  a  man  who  has  conquered  one 
temptation  may  surrender  to  another.  Courage  is  no  more 
different  from  temperance  than  courage  is  from  courage,  or 
temperance  from  temperance.  Each  means  the  control  of 
temporary  and  superficial,  but,  for  the  time  being,  intense 
feelings,  by  the  relatively  permanent  and  deeper  lying  forces 
of  character. 

Corollaries.  —  It  follows  that  all  that  we  have  said  above 
with  regard  to  courage  may  be  directly  applied  to  temper- 
ance. Men  are  temperate,  as  they  are  brave,  from  a  variety 
of  motives,  among  which  is  ambition  for  wealth  or  power  or 
glory.  But  the  noblest  temperance  is  that  which  has  its 
springs  in  respect  for  the  standards  of  justice,  in  devotion 
to  others'  welfare,  or  in  a  sense  of  the  beauty  of  the  temperate 
character  itself.  Temperance  of  the  lower  kinds  may  be 
displayed  by  evil  men  in  the  prosecution  of  evil  enterprises. 
It  is  accordingly  not  sufficient  to  constitute  moral  goodness. 
But  without  temperance,  and,  in  particular,  without  some 
degree  of  '  moral  temperance  '  (if  we  may  so  call  it),  a  good 
character  is  unthinkable. 

Persistence  of  Primitive  Conceptions. — Temperance  is  like 
courage  also  in  the  fact  that  peoples  of  a  low  degree  of  moral 
culture  do  not  distinguish  it  sharply  from  mere  insensibility, 
on  the  one  hand,  or  from  physical  endurance,  on  the  other. 
And  it  may  be  added  here,  that  the  same  often  remains 
obstinately  true  of  men  of  a  higher  culture.  Plato,  in  the 
Banquet,  depicts  his  ideal  philosopher  drinking  all  night,  till 
his  companions  are  under  the  table,  and  the  reader  is  ex- 
pected to  admire  the  hero  for  his  prowess.  The  excuse  is, 
first,  that  wine  is  no  temptation  to  him,  and,  secondly,  that 
it  does  not  visibly  affect  him.  I  am  afraid  that  even  to-day 
we  are  more  than  half  inclined  to  admire  the  performance. 
The  same  tendency  is  shown  in  the  confusion  of  chastity 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   93 

with  physical  virginity.  A  '  virtue  '  preserved  only  by  bolts 
and  bars  or  by  constant  espionage  may  be  preferred  to  a  real 
chastity  that  has  been  a  prey  to  guile  or  even  to  physical 
force.  The  author  of  Tom  Jones  assumes  that  by  committing 
a  rape  upon  a  young  woman  a  man  can  force  her  either  to 
marry  him  or  to  give  up  all  hopes  of  happiness.  In  the 
Vicar  of  Wakefield,  the  heroine,  who  is  supposed  to  have  been 
betrayed  by  a  mock-marriage,  is  regarded  as  utterly  ruined 
—  until  the  marriage  turns  out  to  have  been  a  real  one. 

(3)  Wisdom 

Courage  and  temperance  together  constitute  what  is 
called  '  strength  of  character/  But  character  does  not  need 
strength  alone;  it  needs  judgment.  The  intellectual  side 
of  morality  is  wisdom.  A  good  man  cannot  be  a  weakling ; 
so  also  he  cannot  be  a  fool. 

Definition.  —  '  Wisdom/  in  the  widest  sense  of  the  term 
(as  it  is  now  used),1  means  knowledge  of  the  relative  values  of 
things.  Of  course,  in  order  to  know  values  one  must  know 
many  other  particular  facts  and  general  truths ;  but  this  is 
subsidiary.  The  main  thing  is  to  know  how  to  choose ;  and 
if  one  has  an  immense  amount  of  other  knowledge  and  is 
deficient  in  this,  he  is  not  wise. 

Kinds  of  Wisdom.  —  There  are  as  many  different  orders 
of  wisdom  as  there  are  orders  of  values  among  which  to 
choose,  or,  again,  as  there  are  diverging  lines  of  human  in- 
terest and  activity.  Good  judgment  in  business  may  or 
may  not  go  with  judgment  in  art  or  in  the  social  world. 
There  is  common  ground,  to  be  sure;  but  also  there  is  in 
each  department  of  life  something  which  requires  a  special 
experience  for  its  appreciation. 

The  highest  type  of  wisdom  is  the  knowledge  of  the  moral 

1  Elsewhere  in  this  volume  it  is  used  as  the  conventional  translation  of 
ffO(pia,  which  in  Aristotle  denotes  knowledge  of  pure  science.  In  that  con- 
nection the  word  'prudence'  is  used  just  as  we  here  use  'wisdom.' 


94    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

values  themselves,  as  measured  by  the  various  kinds  of  stand- 
ards which  we  have  been  discussing.  We  shall  hereafter 
try  to  make  clear  —  though,  in  a  way,  it  is  obvious  enough 
to  common  sense  —  that  moral  values  stand  in  a  very  close 
relation  to  values  of  the  lower  kinds.  It  may  not  be  quite 
accurate  to  say  (with  Leslie  Stephen)  that  to  show  that 
drunkenness  is  injurious  is  the  same  as  to  show  that  it  is 
morally  wrong;  but  it  is  certain  that  it  is  the  injurious 
effects  of  drunkenness  that  have  caused  men  to  pronounce 
it  morally  wrong.  The  higher  values  of  life  are  not  to  be 
resolved  into  the  lower;  but  men's  experience  of  the  lower 
values  has  given  at  least  a  general  direction  to  the  evolution 
of  the  higher  values.  And  so  moral  wisdom,  the  knowledge 
of  the  supreme  values,  cannot  exist  by  itself.  A  man  cannot 
be  a  general  imbecile  and  a  moral  sage. 

Relation  of  Wisdom  to  Courage  and  Temperance.  —  We 
have  seen  above  that  courage  and  temperance  are  the  same 
quality  of  character  seen  in  different  relations.  With  some 
reservations  the  same  remark  may  be  applied  to  wisdom  also. 
This  is  hard  for  us  to  understand,  because  so  often  we  see 
men  display  great  heroism  and  self-restraint  in  the  support 
of  a  sadly  misguided  cause,  —  the  uprising  of  the  Scotch 
Highlanders  in  favor  of  the  Young  Pretender,  for  example 
—  or,  again,  weakly  deserting  a  cause  of  which  they  rightly 
approve.  But  in  cases  of  the  one  sort  we  perceive,  on  re- 
flection, that  the  folly  displayed  is,  in  reality,  a  high  degree 
of  wisdom  that  has  failed  because  of  its  application  to  new 
and  untried  conditions.  The  whole  social  existence  of  the 
Highlander  was  based  upon  his  fidelity  to  his  hereditary 
chief.  This  was  his  best  wisdom,  approved  by  the  experi- 
ence of  his  clan  for  centuries.  The  support  which  he  gave 
to  his  '  rightful  sovereign  '  was  simply  an  extension  of  the 
wisdom  of  the  clan.  Now  of  course  this  does  not  warrant 
us  in  saying  that  a  mistake  is  not  a  mistake ;  but  it  should 
serve  to  warn  us  against  associating  the  courage  of  the  High- 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS   95 

lander  with  this  particular  mistake,  and  forgetting  that  it 
had  grown  up  in  connection  with  convictions  which  within 
their  own  limits  were  eminently  wise.  And  in  cases  of  the 
other  sort,  where  wisdom  seems  to  be  coupled  with  cowardice 
and  weak  indulgence,  examination  may  be  counted  on  to 
show  that  the  supposed  wisdom  is  in  reality  of  a  very  shallow 
nature.  Men  do  not  always  act  according  to  their  convic- 
tions. Any  man,  no  doubt,  may  be  unmanned  under  suffi- 
cient stress  of  danger  or  temptation.  But  deeply  settled 
convictions  are  not  lightly  discarded.  It  requires  powerful 
motives  to  suppress  them.  So  that  when  we  see  a  man  easily 
led  to  act  against  his  better  judgment,  we  may  rest  assured 
that  the  judgment  itself  was  little  more  than  a  form  of  words, 
with  little  genuine  appreciation  behind  it. 

The  close  mutual  relation  between  strength  and  wisdom 
is  to  some  extent  recognized  in  common  speech.  Courage 
(or  what  would  otherwise  be  courage)  without  wisdom  is 
not  courage  but  rashness;  temperance  without  wisdom  is 
not  temperance  but  miserliness.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  a 
general  knowledge  of  values,  without  the  '  courage  of  one's 
convictions/  would  by  no  one  be  called  wisdom. 

Why,  then,  is  the  distinction  between  strength  and  wisdom 
preserved?  If  the  two  are  inseparable,  if  neither  is  itself 
without  the  other,  why  are  they  not  simply  identified? 
There  would  be  some  advantage  in  identifying  them,  and 
some  moralists  have  done  so ;  but  the  greater  advantage  is 
on  the  other  side.  It  is  often  by  no  means  a  useless  proce- 
dure to  separate  in  our  minds  various  aspects  of  one  thing  or 
event  which  in  reality  belong  together,  especially  if  they  vary 
in  degree  or  extent  independently  of  one  another,  or  seem 
to  do  so  to  common  observation.  This  last  is  the  case  with 
wisdom  and  strength.  They  are  related  together  as  the  full- 
ness and  accuracy  of  knowledge  to  the  efficacy  of  its  control 
of  conduct.  And  though  in  a  general  way  we  may  say  that 
probably  no  change  in  the  one  can  occur  without  some  cor- 


96    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

responding  change  in  the  other,  nevertheless  in  our  actual 
observation  of  men  we  estimate  the  two  qualities  in  great 
part  separately.  This  is  largely  because  we  judge  a  man's 
wisdom  not  only  from  his  deeds  but  from  his  expressed 
opinions ;  whereas  we  are  much  less  inclined  to  judge  courage 
and  temperance  from  words  alone,  except  under  circum- 
stances where  the  words  amount  to  deeds. 

The  Cardinal  Virtues.  —  Courage,  temperance,  and  wis- 
dom, together  with  justice,  are  the  four  so-called  cardinal 
virtues.  The  virtue  of  benevolence,  or  charity,  is  not  in- 
cluded, because  the  Greek  moralists,  to  whom  the  list  is  due, 
treated  benevolence  either  as  a  form  of  justice  or  else  as 
included  in  friendship.  And  friendship  obviously  is  not  a 
virtue  of  a  single  man,  though  the  forming  and  maintaining 
of  friendships  is  one  of  the  most  notable  ways  in  which  his 
virtue  can  manifest  itself  —  a  truth  which  the  Greeks  were 
fond  of  pointing  out. 

2.  Virtue  without  Effort 

When  we  compare  the  morality  of  virtue  with  that  of  duty 
and  benevolence,  one  very  important  difference  soon  ap- 
pears. From  the  point  of  view  of  duty  or  of  benevolence  we 
attach  little  importance  to  conduct  which,  though  right  and 
good,  calls  for  little  effort  on  the  agent's  part.  If  I  pay  my 
rent  promptly  when  next  it  falls  due,  no  one  will  praise  the 
deed.  If  I  tell  my  children  a  story  to-night  at  bedtime, 
neither  they  nor  any  one  else  will  pay  any  attention  to  the 
moral  quality  of  the  act.  It  is  only  when  I  persist  in  my  duty 
under  strong  temptation  to  the  contrary,  it  is  only  when  the 
benefit  which  I  confer  costs  me  dearly,  that  any  approval  is 
aroused.  There  must  be  the  keen  sense  of  obligation  or  of 
personal  loss.  But  from  the  point  of  view  of  virtue,  common 
acts,  performed  without  effort,  are  exceedingly  important. 
To  be  such  a  man  as  always  to  meet  my  petty  obligations 
promptly,  is  to  be  a  very  worthy  sort  of  man.  To  be  the 


GENERAL  SURVEY  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      97 

sort  of  father  that  is  ready  to  put  down  his  book  to  tell  the 
children  their  bedtime  story  is  to  be  a  very  good  sort  of 
father.  The  separate  acts  are  little  or  nothing;  but  the 
trait  of  character,  which  underlies  and  includes  them  all,  is 
much. 

Not  only  is  this  true,  but,  furthermore,  from  the  point  of 
view  of  virtue  the  conduct  which  only  a  keen  sense  of  obliga- 
tion can  force  through,  the  benevolence  which  costs  a  pang, 
does  not  appear  to  be  especially  admirable.  As  Aristotle 
puts  it,  he  only  is  virtuous  who  takes  pleasure  in  acting 
virtuously.  The  reason  for  this  difference  is  simple.  From 
the  point  of  view  of  duty,  the  essential  thing  is  that  the  ob- 
ligation has  been  performed,  and  the  act  appears  admirable 
hi  comparison  with  the  breach  of  duty  that  under  such  cir- 
cumstances would  not  have  been  surprising.  From  the 
point  of  view  of  benevolence,  the  essential  thing  is  that  the 
impulses  of  selfishness  were  as  a  matter  of  fact  overcome; 
and  the  act  appears  admirable  in  contrast  to  the  easy-going 
acquiescence  in  another's  ill,  into  which  many  men,  under 
the  circumstances,  would  have  slipped.  But  from  the  point 
of  view  of  virtue  we  note  the  weakness  and  hesitancy  dis- 
played, and  contrast  them  with  the  strength  and  decision 
that  would  not  for  a  moment  have  left  the  issue  in  doubt. 

3.  The  Imitation  of  the  Ideal 

The  Hero.  —  The  values  of  virtue  are  very  commonly 
represented  in  our  consciousness  in  the  concrete  form  of 
the  ideal  personality,  or  hero;  and  in  that  case  our  moral- 
ity becomes  in  a  peculiar  sense  an  imitation  —  not  an  indis- 
criminate imitation  of  the  traits  of  character  of  the  men  and 
women  about  us,  but  a  selective  imitation  of  what  is  regarded 
as  best.  Primarily  the  heroes  are  real  individuals,  perhaps 
parents  or  friends  —  "  Can't  any  boy  be  as  good  as  Ma  "  — 
perhaps  famous  men  of  the  present  or  of  the  past.  The 
imitation  of  one's  ancestors  long  exerted  a  powerful  in- 


98    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

fluence  upon  men,  because  of  the  way  in  which  it  allied  itself 
with  devotion  to  the  family  as  a  permanent  institution. 
The  heroes  may  also  be  imaginary ;  but  if  they  are  known  to 
be  such,  their  influence  is,  in  general,  greatly  diminished. 

The  Divine  Model.  —  Most  notable  of  all  objects  of  moral 
imitation  is  the  superhuman  or  divine  hero;  Hercules, 
Buddha,  or  the  incarnate  God  of  Christianity.  The  imita- 
tion of  Christ  has  been  the  supreme  formative  and  guiding 
influence  in  the  lives  of  many  of  the  noblest  of  men. 

Influence  of  Religion  upon  Morality.  —  This  is  the  third 
principal  mode  that  we  have  found,  in  which  religion  has 
set  its  impress  upon  morality.  The  gods  are  guardians  of 
justice ;  or  chiefs ;  or  legislators.  They  are  friends  of  men ; 
or  (changing  to  the  singular)  the  loving  Savior  of  us  all, 
whom  we  love  in  turn  with  an  unquenchable  love.  Or  they 
are  the  archetypes  of  every  human  perfection,  toward  which 
our  aspirations  are  set.  Needless  to  say,  in  actual  life  all 
these  conceptions  unite  together,  reenforcing  one  another 
in  varying  degrees,  according  to  the  character  of  the  moral 
agent. 

REFERENCES 

WUNDT,  W.,  Ethics,  Book  III,  Ch.  IV. 

MEZES,  S.,  Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  Chs.  IX-XIV. 

DEWEY  and  TUFTS,  Ethics,  Part  I,  Chs.  III-V,  IX,  XIX. 

MACKENZIE,  J.  S.,  Manual  of  Ethics,  Book  III,  Chs.  III-V. 

SORLEY,  W.  R.,  The  Moral  Life. 

ALEXANDER,  S.,  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  Book  II,  Ch.  VI. 

TAYLOR,  A.  E.,  The  Problem  of  Conduct,  Ch.  IV. 

HOBHOUSE,  L.  T.,  Morals  in  Evolution,  Part  II,  Chs.  I,  II. 

READ,  C.,  Natural  and  Social  Morals,  Book  II,  Ch.  VI. 


PART   II 
THE  CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS 


99 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

Object  of  Part  II.  —  Ethics  is  a  science  that  has  grown  up 
through  centuries  of  controversy ;  and,  what  is  more,  all  the 
old  controversies  are  still  alive,  or  may  at  any  moment  be 
reborn.  What  the  science  is  to-day  cannot,  therefore,  be 
satisfactorily  understood  without  some  knowledge  of  the 
age-long  disputations.  In  the  following  chapters  we  shall 
attempt,  not  a  history  of  ethics  —  for  that  would  exceed  our 
space  —  but  a  critical  account  of  some  of  the  more  important 
and  typical  ethical  theories.  In  general  we  shall  follow  the 
historical  order,  but  not  strictly.  The  ethicist  is  often  at 
least  as  closely  connected  with  the  kindred  thinkers  of  a 
previous  century  as  with  the  rival  thinkers  of  his  own. 

In  this  account  we  shall  limit  ourselves  for  the  most  part 
to  the  ethical  thought  of  Greece  in  the  fifth  and  fourth  cen- 
turies B.C.  and  to  that  of  England  in  the  seventeenth,  eight- 
eenth, and  nineteenth  centuries  A.D.  In  Germany,  in  the 
half -century  that  centers  at  the  year  1800,  ethical  specu- 
lation of  the  greatest  importance  was  carried  on;  but  it 
will  suit  our  convenience  to  give  it  only  a  secondary  place. 

Preliminary  Classification.  —  It  will  be  helpful  to  have 
before  us,  for  purposes  of  reference,  a  classification  of  prob- 
lems and  theories,  which  will  serve  to  map  out  this  part  of 
our  study. 

As  the  student  will  recall,  the  theories  of  ethics  have  had 
as  their  starting-point  the  consideration  either  of  happiness 
or  of  the  moral  values.  During  ancient  times  the  theory  of 
happiness  was  generally  the  point  of  departure.  In  modern 
times  it  has  generally  been  the  theory  of  moral  values. 

101 


102    INT.HODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Ancient  Ethics  :  Its  First  Problems.  —  Curiously  enough, 
however,  in  the  beginnings  of  the  science  it  was  the  moral 
values  that  first  attracted  attention.  In  the  latter  half  of 
the  fifth  century  B.C.  we  find  the  following  questions  dis- 
cussed :  (1)  How  far  are  the  moral  distinctions  natural ,  and 
how  far  merely  conventional  ?  (2)  7s  morality  always  profit- 
able? (3)  Is  morality  a  matter  of  feeling  and  habit,  or  of  in- 
tellectual discernment  ? 

The  Three  Great  Schools.  —  At  the  beginning  of  the 
fourth  century  these  questions  are  all  still  prominent.  But 
behind  them  looms  up  the  other  question :  What  is  goodness 
in  general,  and  what  is  human  happiness?  And  this  soon 
becomes  the  primary  issue  between  ethical  thinkers.  It 
divides  them  into  three  well-marked  schools,  holding  the 
following  distinctive  theories : 

I.  Hedonism,  according  to  which  happiness  consists  in 
pleasure,  and  unhappiness  in  pain,  and  things  in  general 
are  good  or  bad  according  as  they  tend  to  produce  pleasure 
or  pain. 

II.  Rigorism,  according  to  which  happiness  is  identical 
with  virtue,  and  unhappiness  with  vice,  and  nothing  else  is 
good  or  evil. 

III.  Energism  (or  the  self-realisation  theory),  according  to 
which  happiness  consists  in  the  normal  exercise  of  man's 
faculties,  and  especially  of  his  highest  faculty  (supposed  to  be 
pure  reason) ;  and  things  in  general  are  good  or  evil  accord- 
ing as  they  produce  favorable  or  unfavorable  conditions  for 
such  exercise.1 

In  these  formulae,  and  quite  generally  in  ethical  literature, 
the  term  '  happiness '  is  the  conventional  translation  of  the 
Greek  evSa/xovwx,  which  was  used  by  thinkers  of  all  schools  to 

1  In  his  classification  of  ethical  theories,  Aristotle  also  mentions,  as  re- 
quiring critical  notice,  Plato's  theory,  that  the  goodness  of  anything  is  due 
to  the  active  presence  in  it  of  the  eternal  idea  of  the  good.  As  he  suggests, 
the  theory  is  really  of  far  more  importance  for  metaphysics  than  for  ethics ; 
but  we  can  hardly  avoid  giving  some  account  of  it. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE  103 

denote  the  highest  human  good,  however  great  their  disagree- 
ment as  to  the  nature  of  this  good.  A  less  misleading  trans- 
lation would  be  '  well-being  ' ;  and  this  might  be  defined  as 
'  a  condition  of  mind  that  is  intrinsically  desirable/  It  is 
well,  however,  to  follow  convention  in  such  matters.  It  is 
necessary  to  make  this  explanation  because  sometimes  the 
term  '  happiness  '  is  used  as  an  equivalent  for  '  pleasure  and 
the  absence  of  pain/  Of  course,  in  hedonistic  literature  the 
two  meanings  coincide. 

The  three  views  thus  defined  persisted  side  by  side,  with 
various  compromises  and  harmonizations,  throughout  the 
whole  history  of  the  ancient  science  of  ethics.  Energism 
had  decidedly  the  least  influence  in  ancient  times,  but  it  has 
had  an  immense  influence  upon  modern  thought,  especially 
in  the  nineteenth  century. 

The  Beginnings  of  Modern  Ethics.  —  Modern  ethics  arose 
in  the  seventeenth  century  in  the  endeavor  to  answer  the 
question :  (1)  What  is  the  significance  of  the  moral  law,  and 
how  can  its  authority  be  demonstrated?  Involved  in  this  was 
the  further  question :  (2)  What  is  the  nature  of  man,  and  for 
what  manner  of  life  is  he  naturally  fit  ? 

The  Classical  English  Schools.  —  But  in  the  eighteenth 
century  (which  is  the  classical  period  in  English  ethics)  the 
first  place  was  taken  by  the  psychological  question :  How  do 
we  perceive  the  distinctions  between  right  and  wrong,  good  and 
bad?  The  principal  writers  were  divided  into  three  schools, 
according  as  they  professed : 

I.  Intuitionalism,  or  the  view  that  the  moral  quality  of 
conduct  is  its  agreement  or  disagreement  with  an  intuitively 
perceived  body  of  law. 

II.  Sentimentalism,  according  to  which  the  moral  quality 
of  conduct  or  character  is  its  capacity  for  stimulating  a 
certain  class  of  sensations  or  feelings. 

III.  Utilitarianism  (or  the  derivative  theory),  according  to 


104    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

which  the  moral  quality  of  conduct  is  its  tendency  to  increase 
or  decrease  the  general  sum  of  pleasure ;  and  the  apprecia- 
tion of  this  quality  is  not  an  innate  faculty,  but  is  developed 
in  each  man's  experience  from  an  original  desire  for  pleasure. 
The  Hedonistic  Controversy.  —  The  nineteenth  century 
is  marked  by  a  revival  of  the  ancient  controversy  between  hedon- 
ism and  energism}  with  regard  to  the  nature  of  happiness. 
(In  the  eighteenth  century  the  principal  adherents  of  all 
schools  had  been  more  or  less  definitely  hedonists,  with  only 
an  occasional  imperfect  expression  of  the  energistic  view.) 
The  hedonistic  side  was  championed  by  descendants  of  the 
old  utilitarians.  The  cause  of  energism  was  supported  by 
men  who  were  strongly  influenced  by  the  German  idealistic 
philosophy  that  had  its  rise  in  the  speculations  of  Immanuel 
Kant. 

REFERENCES    ON    THE    HISTORY    OF    ETHICS 

SIDGWICK,  H.,  History  of  Ethics. 

MARTINEAU,  J.,  Types  of  Ethical  Theory. 

WUNDT,  W.,  Ethics,  Part  II. 

PAULSEN,  F.,  System  of  Ethics,  Book  I. 

HYSLOP,  J.  H.,  Elements  of  Ethics,  Ch.  II. 

ROGERS,  R.  A.,  Brief  History  of  Ethics. 

HOBHOUSE,  L.  T.,  Morals  in  Evolution,  Part  II,  Chs.  VI,  VII. 

WATSON,  J.,  Hedonistic  Thinkers  from  Aristippus  to  Spencer. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ETHICS 

I.    THE  SOPHISTS 

Their  Occupation.  —  The  beginnings  of  ethics  were  a  con- 
sequence of  the  rise  of  democracy  among  the  states  of  Greece, 
which  took  place  during  the  fifth  century  before  Christ. 
Hitherto,  under  an  aristocratic  regime,  inherited  wealth 
was  the  chief  requisite  for  political  power.  Now  birth  and 
money  lost  a  part  of  their  influence.  The  humblest  origin 
need  not  prevent  any  citizen  of  talent  from  becoming  a 
leader  in  the  state.  Above  all  things  else,  the  art  of  the 
orator  was  in  those  times  essential  to  the  politician.  In  the 
public  assembly,  as  well  as  in  the  law  courts  where  his  ene- 
mies might  at  any  time  bring  him,  the  power  to  hold  and 
sway  an  audience  was  the  chief  element  of  success.  Conse- 
quently, the  ambitious  young  men  of  wealth  were  ardently 
desirous  of  training  along  this  line,  as  well  as  in  other  branches 
of  the  art  of  governing  men ;  and  a  number  of  enterprising 
teachers  soon  appeared  in  response  to  this  demand.  These 
were  the  sophists.  In  the  absence  of  organized  schools, 
they  traveled  from  city  to  city,  giving  their  instruction  at 
the  homes  of  wealthy  patrons,  and  arousing  the  most  intense 
enthusiasm.  In  addition  to  oratory  and  politics,  most  of 
them  taught  other  subjects  belonging  to  a  polite  education, 
such  as  literature,  history,  geography,  and  mathematics; 
all  of  which,  indeed,  were  felt  to  have  a  real  value  in  prepar- 
ing a  young  man  for  civic  usefulness. 

Their  Philosophical  Interests.  —  The  sophists  were  prac- 
tical men,  training  their  pupils  for  practical  ends,  But 

105 


106    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

incidentally  they  were  led  to  do  some  acute  thinking  upon 
the  theory  that  lay  behind  the  practice ;  and  in  so  doing  they 
made  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  human  thought.  The 
earlier  philosophical  thinking  of  the  Greeks  had  been  almost 
entirely  limited  to  '  physical '  problems,  that  is,  to  the  ex- 
planation of  external  nature.  In  a  hundred  years,  a  long 
succession  of  ingenious  theories  of  the  constitution  of  things 
had  been  originated,  involving  many  scientific  conceptions 
which  have  since  proved  wonderfully  fruitful;  but  very 
little  had  been  securely  established.  The  sophists  were  well 
acquainted  with  the  old  physical  theories,  and  some  used 
them  for  purposes  of  display.  But  their  originality  lay  else- 
where —  in  reflections  upon  man  and  society ;  upon  lan- 
guage, science,  and  religion ;  upon  the  nature  and  origin  of 
law,  civil  and  moral.  Each  sophist  was  independent  of  the 
others,  and  their  teachings,  though  showing  some  common 
tendencies,  were  widely  divergent. 

Prejudice  against  the  Sophists.  —  The  sophists  were  the 
first  Greeks  to  be  professionally  engaged  in  higher  education ; 
and  consequently  men  of  conservative  tendencies  were  in- 
tensely prejudiced  against  them.  They  were  doing  for 
money  what  had  always  been  the  work  of  friendship,  to  be 
paid  for  only  with  respect  and  affection.  The  young  man 
who  wished  for  higher  culture  had  simply  attached  himself 
to  some  accomplished  friend  of  the  family,  and  informal 
companionship  had  done  the  rest.1  The  leisure-loving 
Greeks  had  a  certain  contempt  for  professionalism  in  any 
form,  even  for  their  great  artists  and  successful  athletes. 

1  "Gorgias  of  Leontini,  Prodicus  of  Ceos,  and  Hippias  of  Elis  .  .  .  each 
of  them,  my  friends,  can  go  into  any  city,  and  persuade  the  young  men  to 
leave  the  society  of  their  fellow  citizens,  with  any  of  whom  they  might  as- 
sociate for  nothing,  and  to  be  only  too  glad  to  be  allowed  to  pay  money  for 
the  privilege  of  associating  with  themselves."  (Plato,  Apol.  Soc.,  20  A, 
Church  tr.)  These,  with  Protagoras  of  Abdera,  who  died  earlier,  are  the 
greater  sophists.  Thrasymachus  of  Chalcedon,  who  is  also  important  for 
ethics,  belonged  to  a  younger  group. 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ETHICS  107 

Added  to  this,  they  did  not  like  to  have  the  faith  of  the  young 
men  upset  by  an  impious  prying  into  the  religion  and  moral- 
ity of  their  fathers.  Besides,  the  actual  teaching  of  certain 
of  the  sophists  had  (as  we  shall  see)  a  decidedly  skeptical 
tendency,  which  increased  as  time  went  on.1  In  this  respect 
they  went  no  farther  than  the  hardened  men  of  the  world 
about  them.  They  gave  scientific  expression  to  a  widespread 
spirit  of  unbelief.  But  for  this  very  reason  they  were  feared 
and  hated  the  more. 

Their  Real  Character.  —  It  is  not  to  be  thought  that  the 
sophists  were  men  of  evil  character.  Certain  of  them  may 
have  been  so ;  but  the  great  leaders  of  the  movement  cer- 
tainly were  not.  They  are  uniformly  represented  as  hon- 
orable and  worthy  men.  With  the  exception  of  Gorgias, 
who  was  more  exclusively  a  rhetorician,  they  all  gave  formal 
instruction  in  morality.  The  Choice  of  Hercules,  an  allegory 
of  Prodicus,  in  which  the  greater  value  of  virtue  as  compared 
with  self-indulgence  is  set  forth,  has  been  preserved  by 
Xenophon  (Mem.  Soc.  II,  1)  in  a  rough  transcript,  and  is  a 
fine  piece  of  moral  eloquence ;  and  though  Prodicus  used  to 
recite  the  piece  as  a  specimen  of  his  rhetorical  ability,  its 
tone  is  far  removed  from  insincerity. 

The  Weakening  of  Popular  Morals.  —  There  are  two 
beliefs  with  regard  to  moral  laws  that  may  be  said  to  con- 
stitute the  common-sense  view  of  the  matter :  first,  that  these 
laws  are  universal  and  unchangeable;  and  secondly,  that 
obedience  to  them  is  profitable.  Not  that  common  sense 
is  unwavering  in  either  belief;  for,  indeed,  common  sense 
has  a  habit  of  being  upon  both  sides  of  every  question.  One 

1  Thus,  as  to  religion,  Protagoras  declared :  "Whether  the  gods  exist  or 
not,  I  have  no  means  of  knowing.  For  there  are  many  difficulties  in  the 
way  —  the  obscurity  of  the  problem  and  the  shortness  of  human  life." 
Others  were  still  more  outspoken.  It  was  perceived  that  the  religions, 
like  the  laws,  of  different  peoples  are  very  dissimilar ;  and  this  led  to  their 
being  regarded  as  mere  superstitions,  or  as  a  clever  device  of  politicians  for 
preventing  secret  crimes. 


108    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

finds  a  widespread  assumption,  that  whatever  is  not  for- 
bidden by  the  law  of  the  land  is  right  enough ;  and  an  even 
more  widespread  suspicion,  that  the  rascals  have  an  ad- 
vantage in  the  struggle  for  the  good  things  of  life,  or,  at  any 
rate,  that  it  is  not  well  to  push  one's  probity  too  far.  The 
other  views,  however,  are  the  dominant  ones.  Now  at  this 
time  the  widening  of  the  civil  and  commercial  relations  of 
the  Greek  states  with  each  other  and  with  the  outer  world 
was  leading  to  a  serious  questioning  of  the  old  convictions. 
The  moral  standards  of  different  communities  were  too  un- 
like for  all  to  be  eternally  authoritative ;  and  men  of  sense 
could  not  forever  keep  saying  that  their  own  ways  were 
right  and  those  of  all  other  men  wrong.  Even  among  the 
Greeks  themselves,  it  was  found  that  there  was  scarcely  any 
course  of  conduct,  however  abhorred  in  one  community, 
that  was  not  in  some  other  community  regarded  as  eminently 
right  and  proper.  Thus  the  Thebans  condemned  the  ex- 
posure of  infants;  Athenian  fathers  practiced  it  without 
shame;  while  in  Sparta  the  government  decided  which  of 
the  newborn  infants  were  to  be  preserved,  and  which  put 
out  of  the  way. 

Nature  vs.  Convention :  Hippias.  —  Among  the  sophists 
the  question  was  definitely  raised  :  What  is  the  natural  basis, 
the  permanent  element  (Averts),  of  morality,  as  distinguished 
from  what  is  mere  artifice  and  convention  (0«ns)  ?  That  there 
was  such  a  permanent  element  seems  to  have  been  at  first 
unquestioned.  Tyrants  and  free  assemblies  might  make 
and  unmake  statutes  as  they  pleased ;  but  since  the  very  act 
of  legislation  might  be  just  or  unjust,  there  must  be  some- 
thing higher  by  which  to  judge  it.  This,  thought  Hippias, 
could  only  be  discovered  by  setting  aside  in  thought  all  that 
legislative  caprice  had  ordered  in  one  place  and  another, 
and  looking  to  the  underlying  principles  of  justice  which  are 
everywhere  tacitly  acknowledged,  and  which  are  the  spon- 
taneous dictates  of  human  nature.  "  Law  is  a  tyrant  over 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ETHICS  109 

men,  and  forces  them  to  many  things  contrary  to  nature." 
As  to  just  what  the  natural  standard  was  supposed  by  him  to 
contain  we  know  almost  nothing.  "  Like  is  by  nature  akin 
to  like/'  was  one  of  his  maxims  —  an  early  expression  of 
cosmopolitanism.  Governments  he  evidently  believed  to 
have  been  established  by  the  voluntary  agreement  of  men  as 
a  device  to  secure  an  impartial  arbitration  of  disputes  be- 
tween individuals,  and  thus  preserve  the  balance  of  justice 
amid  the  extremes  of  personal  feeling.1 

Protagoras  :  the  Moral  Feelings.  —  Protagoras,  the  great- 
est of  the  sophists,  maintained  that  there  is,  indeed,  a  uni- 
versal element  in  morality,  but  one  which,  as  he  says,  is  "  not 
of  natural  or  spontaneous  growth."  That  is  to  say,  it  con- 
sists of  certain  feelings,  the  capacity  for  which  is  not  inherited, 
but  is  passed  on  from  generation  to  generation  by  means  of 
social  tradition,  or  education  —  much  as  the  ability  to  speak 
Greek  is  not  inherited,  but  is  transmitted  by  social  influences. 
These  moral  feelings  are  those  of  shame  and  justice. 

Importance  of  Morality.  —  The  importance  of  these  feel- 
ings, which  insures  their  universal  perpetuation,  is  that 
without  them  organized  society,  and  even  the  race  of  man- 
kind, could  not  be  maintained.  For,  in  the  first  place,  gov- 
ernment is  not  a  mere  convenient  device.  Only  in  civil 
society  can  man,  feeble  creature  that  he  is,  be  saved  by  united 
action  from  his  natural  enemies.  And,  in  the  second  place, 
government  is  not  possible  by  means  of  any  mere  wisdom  or 
technical  skill ;  for  these  could  never  restrain  human  selfish- 
ness. It  must  have  a  foundation  in  feeling.  Hence  the 
necessity  for  morality.  Without  shame  and  justice  a  man  is 
essentially  an  outlaw. 

The  Moral  Tradition.  —  The  social  influences  by  which 
morality  is  perpetuated  are  active  from  infancy  to  age. 
First  there  is  the  family  with  its  precepts  and  punishments ; 
next  the  schools  of  letters,  music,  and  gymnastics,  the  main 

1  Such  a  theory  is  satirized  by  Plato  in  Protagoras,  337  E-338  B. 


110    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

object  of  which  is  the  formation  of  character;  and  finally 
the  state,  which  by  the  promulgation  and  enforcement  of 
its  laws  continues  to  guide  and  control  the  individual  until 
death.  Virtue  is  a  branch  in  which  all  men  are  willing 
teachers;  for  each  stands  to  profit  by  the  improvement  of 
every  other;  and  as  a  result  the  worst  of  civilized  men  is 
immeasurably  better  than  the  savage.  The  opportunities 
for  improvement  being  approximately  equal,  the  moral 
differences  between  individuals  are  to  be  ascribed  mainly  to 
differences  in  the  congenital  endowment  which  make  them 
more  or  less  apt  pupils.  The  sophist  is  simply  a  little  wiser 
in  moral  matters  than  the  majority,  and  much  more  skilled 
in  the  art  of  instruction.  Hence  he  can  promise  to  his  pupils 
a  steady  improvement  in  virtue,  and  his  services  are  admit- 
tedly worth  all  he  charges. 

Conventionality  of  Moral  Standards.  —  What,  now,  are 
we  to  say  with  respect  to  the  external  standards  —  the  laws 
and  ordinances,  in  accordance  with  which  the  moral  feelings 
are  trained?  Whence  are  they  derived?  Protagoras,  in 
the  extant  account,  answers  only  that  those  of  the  state  are 
the  "  inventions  of  good  and  ancient  law-givers/ '  and  he 
leaves  us  to  infer  a  similar  origin  for  those  inculcated  in  the 
family  and  the  schools.  Their  whole  content  is  thus  to  an 
undefined  extent  conventional.  All  men  must  have  some 
laws ;  but  one  people  has  one  code,  and  another  has  perhaps 
a  radically  different  code,  to  each  of  which,  equally  and  in- 
differently, the  moral  feelings  are  caused  by  training  to  at- 
tach themselves.  What  seems  right  to  any  people  is  right 
so  far  as  that  people  is  concerned. 

Ethical  Skepticism  :  Thrasymachus.  —  Now  this  is  very 
plausible  as  far  as  it  goes.  But  there  is  one  relevant  circum- 
stance which  it  passes  over ;  namely,  that  not  all  laws  have 
the  sanctity  of  age,  but  new  ones  are  made  by  every  popular 
assembly.  What  reverence  will  a  citizen  feel  for  laws  that 
he  has  seen  in  the  making,  especially  when  he  realizes  the 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ETHICS  111 

pressure  of  selfish  interests  that  has  forced  their  passage? 
Brushing  aside  all  sentimentality,  Thrasymachus  of  Chalce- 
don  boldly  defined  justice  as  "  the  interest  of  the  stronger. " 
In  every  state  the  rules  of  just  and  unjust  are  made  by  the 
dominant  party  to  suit  their  own  selfish  ends.  It  is  the  part 
of  prudence  for  the  weaker  to  obey  (or  conceal  his  disobedi- 
ence) and  thus  escape  punishment.  But  if  a  man  can  be 
unjust  enough  —  if  he  has  the  power  to  overthrow  the  domi- 
nant party  and  substitute  his  interests  for  theirs  —  that  is  of 
course  much  to  be  preferred.  Justice  is  thus  a  prudent 
middle  ground  between  the  weak,  unfortunate  injustice  that 
is  followed  by  punishment,  and  the  victorious  injustice  that 
goes  scot-free.  All  talk  of  justice  as  having  a  value  in  itself 
is  nonsense.  To  be  restrained  by  moral  scruples  is  "  charm- 
ing simplicity,"  "  egregious  good-nature  "  —  letting  oneself 
be  victimized. 

"  Collides."  —  In  the  Gorgias  of  Plato,  Callicles,  a  free- 
thinking  man  of  the  world  who  has  enjoyed  a  sophistic  edu- 
cation, expresses  a  similar  but  somewhat  subtler  view.  The 
rules  of  morality,  he  declares,  are  a  conventional  device  of 
the  great  mass  of  human  weaklings  to  hold  in  restraint  the 
men  of  exceptional  ability  who  would  otherwise  oppress  them. 
According  to  nature  they  ought  to  do  this ;  for  might  is  the 
only  natural  right  —  as  every  foreign  conquest  well  illus- 
trates. But  it  is  dinned  into  them  from  infancy  that  they 
must  be  content  to  have  no  more  than  their  neighbors,  that 
equality  is  honorable  and  just  —  for  equality  is  as  much  as 
the  consciously  inferior  man  dares  hope  for.  Thus  the  su- 
perior men  are  cheated  by  empty  words.  But  one  who  had 
sufficient  force  of  character  would  break  loose  from  this  mys- 
tification and  trample  our  unnatural  laws  under  foot.  In- 
stead of  being  a  slave  he  would  be  a  tyrant,  and  show  the 
world  what  natural  justice  is. 


112    INTRODUCTION   TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

II.   SOCRATES 

His  Historical  Position.  —  The  position  of  Socrates  with 
reference  to  this  whole  movement  of  thought  is  peculiar. 
He  was  an  intense  patriot  and  temperamentally  conservative. 
Although  a  poor  man,  he  shared  to  the  full  the  aristocratic 
prejudice  against  receiving  pay  for  the  imparting  of  liberal 
culture,  and  this  in  itself  marked  him  out  from  the  ranks  of 
the  sophists.  But  he  also  felt  deeply  the  dangerous  tendencies 
toward  selfish  individualism  which  the  sophistic  theories 
were  evincing,  and  he  feared  their  effect  upon  the  civic  ideals 
of  the  state's  most  promising  young  men.  At  the  same  time, 
he  saw  that  to  go  back  to  a  blind  traditionalism  would  never 
do.  The  principle  of  free  inquiry  was  right.  But  he  be- 
lieved that  a  sufficiently  careful  examination  would  show  that 
the  traditional  morality  and  the  institutions  of  government 
contained  a  core  of  eternal  worth;  and  moreover  that  this 
core  consisted  of  no  mere  blind  feelings,  but  of  distinct 
conceptions,  that  could  be  expressed  in  universally  appli- 
cable definitions.1  To  the  finding  of  this  permanent  core, 
and  the  separation  from  it  of  all  that  was  arbitrary  and  non- 
essential,  he  devoted  his  life.  This  would  make  righteous- 
ness no  longer  a  matter  of  ingrained  prejudice,  but  of  scien- 
tific knowledge ;  and  the  threatened  ruin  of  the  state  through 
the  undermining  of  the  morality  of  its  citizens  would  be 
effectually  prevented.  As  a  constructive  critic,  Socrates  thus 

1  The  reader  who  has  some  acquaintance  with  the  history  of  philosophy 
will  recognize  that  this  difference  between  Socrates  and  Protagoras  is  symp- 
tomatic of  a  much  larger  difference,  which  runs  through  their  whole  thought. 
Protagoras  believed  that  knowledge  consisted  of  perceptions,  or  of  images 
derived  from  perception.  Between  knowledge  and  mere  opinion  he  saw  no 
radical  difference :  when  our  opinions  do  not  get  us  into  trouble  we  call 
them  knowledge.  Socrates,  on  the  other  hand,  considered  the  distinction 
between  knowledge  and  opinion  an  absolute  one,  and  made  it  the  founda- 
tion of  all  his  thinking.  According  to  him,  knowledge,  in  the  proper  sense 
of  the  term,  is  not  made  up  of  perceptions,  which  vary  from  moment  to 
moment  and  from  man  to  man,  but  of  conceptions,  which  are  constant  and 
alike  for  all  men,  and  hence  are  capable  of  exact  definition.  (Cf.  p.  14.) 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ETHICS  113 

came  between  two  fires.  On  the  one  hand  he  was  very  gen- 
erally classed  with  the  sophists  as  one  who  was  impiously 
tampering  with  the  moral  convictions  of  the  young  men; 
and  on  the  other  hand  the  sophists  and  their  friends  looked 
upon  him  as  a  malicious  enemy  of  free  thought. 

1.  Fundamental  Assumptions 

(1)  Theory  of  Desire.  —  There  are  two  mainsprings  of 
Socrates's  ethical  theory.  The  first  is  the  assumption  (almost 
as  a  self-evident  truth),  that  no  man  ever  willingly  chooses 
for  himself  the  worse  of  two  given  alternatives;  and  hence  that 
if  a  man  knows  what  is  best  he  will  be  sure  to  act  accordingly. 

We  are  all  aware  of  experiences  that  seem  to  contradict 
this.  As  Aristotle  says,  Socrates  speaks  as  if  incontinence, 
or  weakness  of  will,  did  not  exist.  In  a  later  age  Ovid  gave 
us  the  classical  expression  of  the  common  view  of  the  matter : 
"  I  see  the  better  things  and  recognize  their  worth  —  I  follow 
after  the  worse."  But  according  to  Socrates  the  so-called 
knowledge  that  does  not  control  conduct  is  no  knowledge 
at  all,  but  mere  opinion.  It  lacks  the  clearness,  definiteness, 
and  certainty  of  real  knowledge.  And  that  is  why,  under 
the  influence  of  passion,  it  fluctuates  and  changes  into  its 
opposite.  For  that  is  what  occurs  when  one  acts,  as  the 
phrase  is,  '  contrary  to  one's  judgment/  At  the  moment 
one  has  simply  lost  faith  in  it. 

To  be  sure,  most  of  the  so-called  knowledge  upon  which  men  pride  themselves 
is  couched  in  terms  which  they  cannot  define.  But  that  simply  means  that 
it  is  all  mere  opinion.  Now  on  many  topics  a  probable  opinion  is  perhaps 
all  that  is  needed ;  at  any  rate  it  seems  to  be  all  that  we  are  capable  of 
devising.  But  in  the  field  of  moral  conduct  we  need  knowledge,  we  need 
an  absolute  assurance  —  if  the  Greek  states  are  not  to  go  to  ruin.  And 
since  in  this  case  we  are  dealing  with  facts  of  our  own  nature,  open  to  our 
direct  inspection,  there  is  no  reason  why  knowledge  should  not  here  be 
possible. 

Accordingly,  it  was  natural  that  Protagoras  should  make  justice  and 
honor  matters  of  feeling,  determined  by  tradition,  while  Socrates  made  them 
a  matter  of  science,  to  whose  final  criticism  all  traditions  must  submit. 


114    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

(2)  Theory  of  Value.  —  The  second  mainspring  is  his 
theory  of  value;  namely,  that  the  good  is  the  useful;  or, 
since  it  is  the  good  of  humanity  that  alone  concerns  the  serious 
thinker,  that  the  good  is  what  is  useful  to  man.  This  surprises 
us ;  for  we  are  apt  to  think  of  a  kind  of  goodness,  or  value, 
which  is  more  than  mere  utility ;  beauty,  for  example,  not 
to  speak  of  moral  values.  But  Socrates  held  of  beauty,  too, 
that  it  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  fitness  for  some  purpose. 
"  '  Then  is  a  dung-basket  beautiful  ?  '  '  Yes,  by  Jove,  and  a 
golden  shield  is  ugly,  if  the  one  is  beautifully  made  and  the 
other  badly  made,  each  for  its  own  purposes.'  "  Hence  the 
beautiful  thing  becomes  ugly  when  applied  to  a  purpose  not 
its  own.  Goodness  and  beauty  are  at  bottom  the  same. 
The  one  is  usefulness  to  somebody;  the  other  is  adaptation 
to  some  use.  All  things  are  good  and  beautiful,  or  bad 
and  ugly,  in  precisely  the  same  respects;  as,  indeed,  the 
common  idiom,  by  which  the  expression  '  beautiful-and- 
good  '  (KoXoKa.ya.66v)  was  used  almost  as  a  single  word,  made 
it  easy  for  the  Greek  to  believe.1 

It  would  probably  not  be  fair  to  Socrates  to  say  that  he 
denied  the  existence  of  an  ultimate  good,  which  had  its  value 
in  itself,  apart  from  any  application;  though  language  is 
ascribed  to  him  which  seems  to  mean  this.  "  If  you  ask  me 
whether  I  know  anything  that  is  good  for  nothing,  I  neither 
know  it  nor  care  to."  The  truth  seems  to  be  that  he  did  not 
distinctly  put  such  a  question  to  himself.  He  looked  at  life 
from  a  point  of  view  to  which  the  conception  of  a  good-in- 
itself  did  not  obviously  belong.  Life  presented  itself  to  him, 
not  as  a  series  of  alternate  strivings  and  achievements,  but 
as  a  chain  of  activities  each  of  which  led  on  to  others,  and  was 
not  to  be  considered  apart  from  its  consequences.  Even 
death  did  not  end  the  chain.  For,  not  to  speak  of  the  possi- 

1  It  should  be  noticed  that  Ka\6v  (beautiful)  includes  what  we  should 
call  '  honorable,'  and  must  often  be  so  translated ;  just  as  a.lff\p6v  (ugly) 
includes  what  is  dishonorable,  or  shameful. 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ETHICS  115 

bility  of  an  after-life  (concerning  which  he  would  not  dogma- 
tize), there  is  the  lingering  good  or  evil  fame  to  be  considered, 
to  which  one's  conduct  in  this  life  gives  rise. 

Public  and  Private  Good.  —  For  each  man  the  good  is 
what  is  useful  to  himself ;  but  this  must  not  be  understood 
too  narrowly.  Here  again  we  must  note  that  a  question 
which  in  later  days  has  become  most  important  is  not  dis- 
tinctly raised.  Socrates  never,  so  far  as  we  know,  asked 
himself  whether  a  man's  private  good  might  not  conflict 
with  the  good  of  the  society  in  which  he  lived.  He  simply 
takes  for  granted,  as  the  intensely  social  life  of  the  Greeks 
made  it  natural  to  assume,  that  public  and  private  good  are 
the  same.  A  man's  advantage  may  extend  as  far  as  his  inter- 
ests. The  good  of  each  includes  the  good  of  all  with  whom 
his  life  is  bound  up  —  family,  friends,  fellow-citizens  —  even 
foreigners,  perhaps,  though  Socrates  admits  that  the  nearer 
of  kin  make  the  stronger  appeal. 

2.  Theory  of  Virtue 

The  Central  Thesis.  —  Putting  together  the  two  funda- 
mental doctrines,  we  speedily  arrive  at  the  most  famous  of 
Socrates's  teachings :  that  all  virtue  is  knowledge.  Speaking 
generally,  no  matter  how  good  anything  ordinarily  is,  it  may 
on  occasion  prove  to  be  an  evil.  So  it  is  with  beauty,  health, 
riches,  fame,  technical  skill.  Likewise  what  is  good  for  one 
man  may  be  evil  for  another.  But  goods  are  of  two  sorts, 
those  of  the  soul  and  those  of  the  body.  And  among  the 
goods  of  the  soul  there  is  one  that  is  unconditionally  good ; 
namely,  wisdom  (<ro<£ta),  or  the  knowledge  of  what  is  good  and 
evil.  From  this  no  evil  can  flow.  For  let  it  be  recalled  that, 
according  to  Socrates,  such  knowledge  always  brings  about 
the  choice  of  the  good.  Now  the  so-called  '  virtues  '  are 
merely  wisdom  in  various  relations,  and  the  '  vices  '  are 
different  aspects  of  folly.  This  is  obvious  in  the  case  of  tem- 
perance (<ro></>/ooow?7).  "Wisdom  and  temperance  he  did  not 


116    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

distinguish.  But  by  a  man's  using  what  he  knew  to  be  hon- 
orable and  good,  and  avoiding  what  he  knew  to  be  shameful, 
he  judged  a  man  to  be  both  wise  and  temperate.  When  he 
was  further  asked  whether  he  regarded  as  wise  and  continent 
those  who  knew  what  they  ought  to  do  but  did  the  opposite, 
— '  No  more  that/  said  he,  '  than  foolish  and  incontinent. 
For  I  think  that  all  men  do  whatever  (among  the  given  possi- 
bilities) they  prefer  as  most  advantageous  to  themselves. 
So  I  believe  that  those  who  do  not  act  rightly  are  neither 
wise  nor  temperate.' '  But  the  same  is  true  of  all  the  other 
virtues.  "  He  said  that  justice  and  all  other  virtue  was 
wisdom.  For  just  acts  and  all  things  that  are  done  virtu- 
ously are  honorable  and  good.1  And  those  who  know 
them  prefer  nothing  else  to  them;  while  those  who  do 
not  know  cannot  do  them,  but,  even  when  they  try,  miss 
the  mark." 

Courage.  —  But  the  most  striking  illustration  of  Socrates's 
theory  of  virtue  is  to  be  found  in  courage.  For  this  too  is 
wisdom.  Mere  fearlessness  is  not  courage,  for  that  may  be 
due  to  ignorance  or  madness.  The  brave  man  in  every  situa- 
tion is  the  man  who  knows  how  to  face  it.  Thus  the  Spar- 
tans stand  firm  in  the  battle  line,  because  they  know  how  to 
use  their  shields  and  spears.  Give  them  the  light  arms  of 
the  Thracians  or  the  bows  of  the  Scythians,  and  they  would 
be  no  longer  brave.  But  the  worst  evils  are  moral  evils. 
Hence  the  highest  courage  —  that  is  to  say,  the  greatest 
wisdom  —  is  to  be  shown  in  preferring  every  other  evil,  even 
death  itself,  to  these. 

The  Utility  of  Virtue.  —  It  is  clear,  then,  that  while  Soc- 
rates conceives  of  no  ultimate  good,  he  does  believe  in  an 
absolute  good  —  unmixed  with  evil  and  more  precious  than 
any  other.  But  its  value  is  that  of  a  supreme  usefulness. 
"  Not  from  wealth  does  virtue  come ;  but  from  virtue  come 

1  They  are  clearly  honorable ;  and,  as  we  have  seen,  Socrates  believes 
that  the  honorable  and  the  good  are  identical. 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ETHICS  117 

wealth  and  all  other  human  goods,  both  public  and  private." 
So  he  was  continually  crying  in  the  ears  of  his  fellow-citi- 
zens. "  When  some  one  asked  him  what  he  thought  to  be 
the  best  pursuit  for  a  man,  he  answered :  '  Happiness.' 
(evirpa&a ;  etymologically,  '  doing  well.')  Asked  further 
if  he  thought  that  good  fortune  could  be  a  pursuit,  he  said : 
1 1  regard  fortune  and  happiness  (or  unhappiness)  as  alto- 
gether different.  To  chance  upon  something  that  one  wants, 
without  looking  for  it,  is,  I  think,  good  fortune.  To  perform 
well  what  one  has  learned  and  thought  about,  I  consider  to 
be  happiness,  and  those  who  pursue  this  course  seem  to  me 
to  be  happy.' ' 

According  to  Socrates  the  virtuous  life  is  a  very  pleasant 
one ;  in  fact,  the  most  pleasant  possible.  Even  the  lower 
pleasures  are  advanced  in  value.  Temperance  in  diet  gives 
every  morsel  a  relish.  Temperance  in  all  things  takes  away 
the  annoyance  of  petty  deprivations,  leaves  a  man  free  to 
act  for  himself  and  his  friends,  and  by  winning  general  con- 
fidence puts  him  in  the  way  of  all  manner  of  advantages. 
If  the  good  man  thinks  little  of  bodily  gratifications,  that  is 
because  he  has  other  and  sweeter  sources  of  pleasure,  which 
not  only  give  delight  for  the  moment  but  promise  a  perma- 
nent benefit.  The  feeling  of  present  success  is  always  pleas- 
ant. But  most  pleasant  of  all  is  it  to  feel  that  one  is  becoming 
better  and  is  gaining  better  friends. 

Self-knowledge.  —  As  virtue  is  the  knowledge  of  good  and 
evil,  so  the  supreme  virtue  is  the  knowledge  of  the  good  and 
evil  in  oneself,  that  is  to  say,  of  the  extent  of  one's  own 
knowledge  and  ignorance.  This  is  the  significance  which 
Socrates  found  in  the  famous  inscription  at  Delphi :  "  Know 
thyself."  This  is  the  motive  of  that  constant  self-exami- 
nation and  revelation  of  others  to  themselves,  in  which  he 
was  engaged.  To  have  a  virtue  is  to  know  the  class  of  good 
and  evil  things  with  which  it  is  concerned ;  and  to  know  is  to 
have  in  one's  mind  a  conception,  such  as  can  be  expressed  in 


118    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

an  exact  definition.  The  object  of  ethical  inquiry  is  to  bring 
forward  these  conceptions  and  separate  them  out  from  the 
mass  of  opinion  with  which  they  are  confused.  Without 
this  one  can  have  no  proper  assurance  that  one  is  doing  right, 
but  may,  perhaps,  perform  the  worst  iniquities  in  the  belief 
that  they  are  pure  and  holy.  It  is  only  through  the  knowl- 
edge of  one's  limitations  that  one  can  rationally  strive  to 
remove  them. 

Moral  Education.  —  From  this  point  of  view  we  can 
understand  Socrates's  paradoxical  theory  of  moral  education. 
Virtue,  he  said,  could  not  be  taught,  and  he  ridiculed  the 
claims  of:  the  sophists  that  they  were  able  to  teach  it.  "  '  Cal- 
lias/  said  I,  '  if  your  two  sons  were  colts  or  calves,  we  could 
hire  an  overseer  for  them,  to  perfect  them  in  their  own  proper 
excellence ;  and  he  would  be  a  groom  or  a  farmer.  Now 
since  they  are  men,  whom  do  you  intend  to  get  for  an  over- 
seer ?  Who  understands  their  sort  of  excellence  —  that  of 
the  man  and  the  citizen  ?  I  suppose  you  have  inquired,  since 
you  have  sons.  Is  there  anyone/  said  I, '  or  not/  '  Why, 
certainly/  said  he.  '  Who/  said  I,  '  and  from  where,  and  for 
what  fee?'  '  Evenos,  the  Parian,  Socrates/  said  he,  'for 
five  minae.'  And  I  congratulated  Evenos,  if  he  really  knows 
this  art  and  teaches  so  properly.  And  I  should  be  proud 
myself  and  take  on  airs,  if  I  knew  it ;  but  I  do  not,  fellow 
Athenians."  True  moral  education  is  more  than  a  process 
of  admonition  and  punishment.  No  overseer  can  train  a 
man.  Yet  Socrates  was  confident  that  his  followers  had 
been  greatly  benefited  by  their  association  with  him.  The 
key  to  the  apparent  contradiction  lies  in  his  belief  that  moral 
advancement  involves  for  each  man  an  active  process  of  self- 
analysis,  which  no  other  can  take  upon  himself,  and  which 
no  teacher  can  guarantee.  The  teacher  and  the  pupil  must 
be  companions,  engaged  in  a  cooperative  search.  The 
teacher  too  is  a  learner,  ever  submitting  his  own  convictions  to 
new  tests,  and  correcting  them  day  by  day.  And  with  the 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ETHICS  119 

best  of  intentions  success  must  ultimately  depend  upon  the 
blessing  of  God. 

Did  Socrates  allow  no  place  to  habituation  in  the  formation 
of  character  ?  In  principle  he  did  not ;  but  as  a  matter  of 
fact  he  did.  His  whole  philosophy  was  based  upon  the  dis- 
tinction between  knowledge  (as  the  term  is  applied  to  exact 
science)  and  opinion ;  and,  as  we  have  seen,  he  holds  that  all 
virtue  is  knowledge.  But  when  examples  of  such  knowledge 
are  to  be  cited,  he  is  represented  as  using  the  art  of  the  car- 
penter, the  musician,  or  the  physician,  or  even  the  practiced 
skill  of  the  diver  or  the  soldier.  He  seems  to  have  taken  for 
granted  that  in  the  acquiring  of  knowledge  the  training  of  the 
body  has  its  essential  place.  And  so,  in  the  cultivation  of 
every  virtue,  study  and  exercise  (fta^o-ts  KM  fieAen/s)  go 
hand  in  hand.  Perhaps  it  was  by  reason  of  this  loose  concep- 
tion of  knowledge  that  Socrates  was  able  to  assume  the 
possibility  of  knowing  without  knowing  that  you  know  — 
the  knowledge  acquired  in  practice  being  afterwards  brought 
to  clear  attention  by  a  searching  induction. 

The  Standards  of  Justice.  —  There  is  one  important 
feature  of  Socrates's  ethics  which  we  have  not  yet  considered, 
though  it  is  involved  in  the  conception  of  virtue  as  knowledge. 
Knowledge  is  distinguished  from  opinion  by  its  perfect  defi- 
niteness  and  certitude.  This  implies  that  the  objects  of 
knowledge  are  similarly  definite  and  immovable  —  that  they 
cannot  be  arbitrary  fictions  that  change  with  the  changes 
of  fashion  or  of  personal  whim.  When,  therefore,  Socrates 
says  that  justice  is  knowledge  of  what  is  just  and  unjust,  he 
implies  that  the  distinction  between  just  and  unjust  is  an 
absolute  one.  Now  justice  means  conformity  to  law;  and 
the  question  arises,  how,  when  laws  change  as  they  do, 
an  eternal  justice  is  possible.  Socrates's  answer  is  twofold. 
In  the  first  place,  even  though  laws  be  temporary,  it  may  be 
eternally  obligatory  on  us  to  obey  whatever  laws  are  in  force. 
(Even  so  a  state  of  war  is  temporary ;  yet  it  is  not  for  that 


120    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

reason  any  the  less  the  citizens'  duty  to  fight  for  their  country 
manfully  while  the  war  lasts.)  But  if  that  be  true,  as  he 
believes,  then  it  must  be  an  eternal  law  that  men  should  obey 
the  temporary  laws.  (As  Xenophon  puts  it,  it  is  the  pleasure 
of  the  gods  that  just  and  lawful  should  be  the  same.)  In 
the  second  place,  however,  this  is  not  the  only  eternal  law. 
There  are  others  too,  which  are  universally  in  force,  even 
though  they  are  not  always  recognized  or  obeyed ;  for  when 
they  are  disobeyed,  the  penalty  naturally  and  inevitably 
follows.  Such  are  the  laws,  that  men  should  worship  the  gods, 
honor  their  parents,  be  grateful  to  their  benefactors.  But  the 
most  important  law  of  all  is  that  men  should  seek  knowledge 
and  especially  self-knowledge ;  for  the  penalty  is  ignorance 
and  folly.  It  was  upon  this  ground  that  Socrates,  at  the  trial 
which  resulted  in  his  condemnation  and  death,  refused  to 
purchase  any  indulgence  by  promising  to  discontinue  his 
investigations.  "  Fellow  Athenians,  I  love  you  and  embrace 
you,  but  I  will  obey  the  god  rather  than  you."  But  what, 
then,  becomes  of  the  broken  human  law?  Are  its  claims  to 
respect -undone  ?  Not  by  any  means.  It  is  no  law  of  God 
that  we  should  break  even  an  unjust  law  for  our  own  temporal 
profit ;  and  though  adhering  to  the  higher  standard,  Socrates 
was  ready  and  willing  to  lay  down  his  life  in  obedience  to  the 
lower  standard. 

Religious  Notions.  —  Of  Socrates's  religion  a  few  words 
may  be  said.  The  indications  are  that  he  accepted  in  the 
main  the  traditional  religion  of  the  people,  regarding  it  as  a 
state  institution  to  which  the  obedient  citizen  was  bound 
to  give  his  allegiance,  and  which,  moreover,  was  substantially 
confirmed  by  the  fulfillment  of  oracles,  dreams,  and  other 
indications  of  the  future ;  but  that  he  imposed  upon  it,  so 
to  speak,  a  monotheism.  The  old  gods  —  the  sun  and  moon, 
for  example  —  were  thus  recognized  as  finite  beings,  like  men, 
though  vastly  superior  to  men  in  intelligence  and  worth. 
But  above  them  was  one  who  was  god  in  a  different 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ETHICS  121 

sense,1  a  being  of  infinite  knowledge  and  goodness,  the  author 
and  ruler  of  the  world,  and,  above  all  else,  the  eternal  legis- 
lator and  judge.  The  evidence  for  this  Socrates  found  in  the 
beauty  and  order  of  the  universe ;  in  the  adaptation  of  man's 
surroundings,  and  especially  of  his  bodily  structure  to  his 
needs ;  and  in  the  inevitable  necessity  by  which,  as  he  be- 
lieved, happiness  attended  upon  virtue  and  misery  upon  vice. 
His  notion  of  prayer  was  characteristic.  He  would  pray  for 
nothing  in  particular,  but  only  for  '  the  good/  For  any  good 
fortune  which  he  might  specify  might  prove  to  be  an  evil  to 
him.  And  the  chief  good  was  not  to  be  had  by  good  fortune, 
but  to  be  attained  by  persevering  effort.  Of  immortality  he 
seems  to  have  thought  as  a  precious  hope,  suggested  by  an- 
cient and  traditional  lore.  The  idea  of  a  future  judgment 
was  reasonable  enough ;  though  he  believed  that  divine  judg- 
ment was  perfectly  executed  in  this  world. 

The  Issues.  —  Is  the  basis  of  morality  to  be  found  in  feeling 
or  in  intelligence  ?  Are  its  values  perceived  by  the  excitation 
of  certain  peculiar  sentiments,  or  are  they  objects  of  rational 
knowledge  ?  Are  the  laws  of  morality,  like  the  laws  of  par- 
ticular states,  useful  conventions,  which  might  well  have 
been  otherwise,  but  which,  as  matters  stand,  serve  their 
turn  very  well ;  or  are  they  eternal  laws,  so  bound  up  with 
the  nature  of  things  that  whether  men  recognize  them  or  not 
their  authority  is  undisturbed  ? 

REFERENCES 

XENOPHON,  Memorabilia  of  Socrates. 

PLATO,  Apology  of  Socrates,  Protagoras,  and  Hippias  Minor. 
GROTE,  G.,  History  of  Greece,  Chs.  LXVII,  LXVIII. 
ZELLER.  E.,  Pre-Socratic  Philosophy,  Section  III,  and  Socrates  and 
the  Socratic  Schools,  Part  II,  Ch.  VII,  Ch.  IX,  C. 

1  At  the  same  time,  Socrates  seems  to  have  identified  him  with  Zeus  and 
Apollo  —  especially  with  the  god  of  Delphi.  Even  so  Heraclitus  of  Ephesus 
had  said  of  the  supreme  being:  "He  is  willing  and  unwilling  to  be  called 
by  the  name  of  Zeus." 


122    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

GOMPERZ,  T.,  Greek  Thinkers,  Book  III,    Chs.  IV-VI;  Book  IV, 

Ch.  IV. 
CAIRD,  E.,  Evolution  of  Theology  in  the  Greek  Philosophers,  Lecture 

III. 

BLACKIE,  J.  S.,  Four  Phases  of  Morals,  Ch.  I. 
FORBES,  E.  T.,  Socrates. 

BENN,  A.  W.,  The  Philosophy  of  Greece,  Chs.  I,  IV,  V. 
WATSON,  J.,  Hedonistic  Theories,  Ch.  I. 


CHAPTER  VII 

HEDONISM 

The  Socratic  Schools.  —  The  many-sidedness  of  Socrates's 
moral  philosophy  is  such  that  it  is  no  wonder  that  after  his 
death  his  disciples  at  once  separated  into  at  least  three  differ- 
ent schools,  each  emphasizing  a  different  aspect  of  the  master's 
doctrine.  The  leaders  of  these  schools  were,  at  first,  naturally 
enough,  certain  of  his  older  pupils  :  Euclid  of  Megara,  Antis- 
thenes  of  Athens,  and  Aristippus  of  Gyrene.  Euclid  was  of 
a  speculative  turn  of  mind,  and  set  himself  to  drawing  the 
conclusions  that  followed  from  asserting  that  virtue  is  one ; 
that  it  is  knowledge  of  the  good;  that  the  only  absolute 
good  is  virtue  itself ;  and  that  what  can  be  truly  known  must 
be  eternal.  And  he  emerged  with  the  beautiful  doctrine, 
that  all  that  exists  is  one  perfect  being;  all  variety  and 
change,  and  especially  all  evil,  being  an  illusion.  Antisthenes 
was  an  ardent  reformer ;  and  what  struck  him  as  important 
was  the  fact  that  virtue  was  in  itself  sufficient  to  make  life 
worth  living,  and  that,  as  the  only  unconditionally  good 
thing,  all  else  was  to  be  despised  in  comparison  with  it.  To 
the  genial  Aristippus  the  significant  point  was  that  the  virtu- 
ous life  was  full  of  pleasure.  After  a  few  years,  a  much 
younger  pupil  of  Socrates  rose  to  a  prominence  in  which  he 
overshadowed  all  his  elders.  This  was  Plato  of  Athens. 
At  the  outset  he  stood  closest  to  Euclid ;  but  he  developed 
all  sides  of  Socrates's  doctrine  hi  a  remarkable  way.  Euclid's 
theories  were  not  very  fruitful  for  ethics,  and  we  shall  there- 
fore omit  them  from  consideration  here.  Those  of  the  other 
men  have  profoundly  affected  the  later  history  of  the  science. 

In  the  present  and  the  following  two  chapters,  we  shall 
study  the  three  lines  of  speculation  thus  initiated. 

123 


124    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

I.  ARISTIPPUS 

Conception  of  an  Ultimate  Good. — We  have  remarked  that 
in  Socrates's  thought  the  happy  life  appears  as  an  indefinitely 
prolonged  chain  of  activities,  each  of  which  leads  on  to  others, 
without  a  definite  goal  being  anywhere  reached.  To  the 
generation  which  followed  him  this  seemed  an  impossible 
position  to  maintain.  Unless  there  is  something  which  is 
good  in  itself,  without  reference  to  anything  that  may  come 
after,  how  can  anything  be  good  at  all?  If  the  means  is  to 
have  value,  the  end  must  have  value ;  and  though  this  end 
may  itself  be  only  a  means  to  a  further  end,  the  series  of 
means  and  ends  must  have  a  final  stopping-place;  else  all 
value  is  illusory. 

The  Pleasure-theory.  —  According  to  Aristippus l  this 
stopping  place  is  reached  in  each  feeling  of  pleasure.  This, 
whatever  else  may  happen,  is  good.  There  is  no  need  of  re- 
finements or  vague  speculations  about  the  matter.  What 
makes  the  happy  life  worth  living  is  the  pleasure  in  it.  It 
is  not  as  if  such  a  life  had  any  peculiar  higher  value  in  itself 
for  which  it  should  be  pursued.  Its  value  is  that  of  its  par- 
ticular pleasant  moments  —  offset,  to  be  sure,  by  whatever 
painful  moments  it  contains.  For  pain,  too,  is  a  stopping 
place  in  the  chain  of  consequences.  Every  feeling  of  pain  is 
bad  in  itself.  If  any  proof  is  wanted  for  these  assertions,  we 
have  only  to  observe  that  all  men,  nay,  all  animate  beings, 
from  the  very  moment  of  birth,  pursue  pleasure  and  avoid 
pain  —  except,  perhaps,  where  some  abnormality  interferes 
with  the  ordinary  course  of  nature. 

1  Aristippus  of  Gyrene  (in  Africa)  was  a  typical  sophist,  wandering  from 
city  to  city  and  teaching  for  pay.  His  wit  and  courtliness  made  him  a  fa- 
vorite among  men  of  the  highest  rank.  How  long  he  studied  with  Socrates 
we  do  not  know ;  but  he  evidently  met  him  in  a  spirit  of  considerable  inde- 
pendence. It  is  probable  that  he  had  previously  been  a  pupil  of  Protagoras, 
of  whose  principles  (not  only  in  ethics  but  in  the  theory  of  knpwledge)  we 
are  frequently  reminded.  Late  in  life  he  established  a  school  in  Gyrene,  the 
members  of  which  were  called  Cyrenaics. 


HEDONISM  125 

All  pleasures  are  alike,  all  pains  are  alike,  except  in  quan- 
tity. All  that  is  pleasant  is  good,  in  so  far  as  it  is  pleasant, 
no  matter  how  shameful  it  may  be  or  how  productive  of 
painful  after-effects.  Similarly,  all  that  is  painful  is  evil,  in 
so  far  as  it  is  painful.  Between  pleasure  and  pain  lies  the 
apathy  of  indifference. 

Aristippus  and  his  earlier  followers  held  that  the  greatest 
pleasures  and  pains  are  those  of  the  body,  i.e.  those  that 
arise  from  a  present  stimulus  acting  upon  the  senses  of 
touch,  taste,  or  smell.  (Sight  and  hearing,  they  thought, 
affect  us  mainly  by  exciting  sympathy.)  The  pleasures  and 
pains  of  the  mind,  i.e.  aesthetic  feelings,  those  arising  from 
memory  or  expectation,  and  those  arising  from  sympathy 
with  others,  were  therefore  regarded  as  of  less  impor- 
tance. However,  this  point  was  not  of  fundamental  im- 
portance, and  some  later  members  of  the  school  modified  it 
considerably.1 

Application  to  Moral  Values.  —  And  now,  what  is  virtue  ? 
Virtue  consists  hi  whatever  qualities  of  mind  enable  the 
possessor  to  get  pleasure  and  avoid  pain;  and  in  this  use 
alone  their  value  consists.  Of  these  qualities  wisdom  is  the 
chief,  —  so  far  Socrates  was  right,  —  but  it  is  not  the  only  one. 
There  are  virtues  which  even  the  fool  may  possess,  such  as  a 
cheerful  and  confident  disposition.  Wisdom  is  not  in  itself 
sufficient  to  insure  an  unbroken  succession  of  pleasures. 
But  the  wise  man  is  for  the  most  part  happy,  and  the  foolish 
man  is  generally  unhappy.  Wisdom  brings  with  it  release 
from  three  of  the  main  sources  of  pain:  envy,  passionate 
desire,  and  superstition;  for  all  these  arise  from  vain  opinions. 
Aristippus  gave  special  warning  against  the  second  of  these. 
That  we  should  master  pleasures  and  not  be  mastered  by 

1  Anniceris  is  especially  mentioned  as  laying  emphasis  upon  the  pleasures 
of  sympathy.  Theodoras  even  declared  that  physical  pleasures  and  pains 
were  indifferent  —  that  the  only  real  good  and  evil  were  the  joy  and  grief 
that  spring  from  wisdom  and  folly.  But  this  was  going  far  toward  rigorism. 


126    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

them *  is  his  best-known  maxim.  To  be  too  fond  of  one 
pleasure  is  to  be  blind  to  others.  We  should  make  the  most 
of  what  is  at  hand,  without  longing  for  what  is  absent. 

As  for  the  just  and  the  honorable,  they  are  merely  what 
law  and  custom  make  them.  But  they  are  not  for  that 
reason  unimportant.  The  good  man  does  nothing  unseemly, 
for  he  has  a  wise  regard  for  punishment  and  social  oppro- 
brium. Friendship  is  an  excellent  thing.  The  friend  is  use- 
ful much  as  an  arm  or  leg  is,  and  should  be  prized  accord- 
ingly. 

II.   OTHER  HEDONISTS 

Plato  and  Eudoxos. — The  system,  it  will  be  seen,  is  beauti- 
fully simple,  and  for  that  reason  it  has  been  attractive  to 
many  men.  Outside  of  the  Cyrenaic  school  the  pleasure- 
theory  found  important  advocates.  Plato,  in  an  early  work 
(the  Protagoras),  adopted  in  a  tentative  way  the  main  prin- 
ciples of  the  school,  but  tried  to  show  that  wisdom  ought 
still  to  be  considered  as  the  sum  of  all  virtue.  We  always 
choose,  he  says,  the  greatest  apparent  pleasure,  but  we  do 
not  always  compare  pleasures  correctly.  The  art  of  life 
is  a  sort  of  calculus,  by  which  pleasures,  present  and  future, 
are  measured  against  each  other.  To  be  '  mastered  by 
pleasure  '  is  really  to  be  mastered  by  ignorance  of  its  relative 
smallness.  It  seems  probable  that  this  criticism  had  a  deep 
effect  upon  the  development  of  the  theory.  However,  in 
later  works  he  rejects  the  whole  theory  decisively.  One  of 
his  pupils,"the  astronomer  Eudoxos,  reverted  to  it,  and  added 
to  the  older  arguments  in  its  support  the  curious  new  one,  that 
pleasure  must  be  the  supreme  good  because  it  is  above  praise. 

Epicurus.  —  But  the  most  important  of  the  ancient  advo- 
cates of  pleasure  is  Epicurus  (341-270  B.C.)  ;  not  for  the 
originality  of  his  work,  indeed,  but  for  its  extraordinary 

1  This  is  the  purport  of  the  ancient  anecdote,  which  relates  that  when 
Aristippus  was  reproached  for  being  a  lover  of  Lais,  the  Corinthian  courtesan, 
he  replied :  "I  am  not  her  lover.  She  is  mine." 


HEDONISM  127 

success.  After  a  very  superficial  education,  he  established 
(in  306  B.C.)  a  school  in  Athens,  which  maintained  his 
teachings  without  essential  change  for  over  six  hundred  years, 
and  during  the  greater  part  of  this  time  exerted  a  powerful 
world-wide  influence.  This  success  was  no  doubt  due  in 
part  to  personal  qualities  in  Epicurus,  for  he  was  a  man  who 
inspired  both  love  and  admiration.  (His  followers  to  the 
latest  days  called  themselves  after  his  name,  Epicureans.) 
But  it  was  mainly  due  to  the  fact  that  he  worked  out  a  scheme 
of  life,  by  following  which  the  wise  man  might  assure  himself 
of  happiness.  For  it  is  one  thing  to  tell  men  of  what  happi- 
ness consists,  and  leave  them,  perhaps,  to  despair  of  securing 
it  for  themselves ; *  and  it  is  another  thing  to  promise  it. 

General  Resemblance  to  Aristippus.  —  With  this  definite 
promise  of  happiness  all  that  is  original  in  Epicurus's  teach- 
ings is  closely  connected.  Meanwhile  the  general  structure 
of  his  ethical  system  is  precisely  the  same  as  with  Aristippus. 
That  pleasure  is  good  and  pain  evil  needs  no  proof.  All 
animals  from  birth  naturally  seek  the  one  and  avoid  the 
other ;  and  so  do  we.  Pleasure  feels  good,  just  as  fire  feels 
warm,  snow  looks  white,  or  honey  tastes  sweet.  No  man 
willingly  gives  up  a  sum  of  pleasure  except  to  avoid  pain ; 
no  man  accepts  an  unnecessary  amount  of  pain  except  in 
order  to  secure  pleasure.  The  virtues  —  wisdom,  temper- 
ance, courage,  and  justice  —  are  the  necessary  and  (as  Epi- 
curus adds)  sufficient  means  of  securing  happiness,  and  in 
this  consists  their  value.  Wisdom  is  the  architect  of  the 
happy  life  and  frees  us  from  the  turbulence  of  the  passions ; 
temperance  makes  the  most  of  things ;  courage  dispels  imag- 
inary evils;  and  justice  wins  the  good  will  of  the  public. 

1  Certain  of  the  later  Cyrenaics,  led  by  Hegesias,  the  "persuader  unto 
death,"  even  held  that  the  happy  life  was  an  impossible  ideal  —  that  escape 
from  labor  and  pain  was  the  most  that  could  be  looked  for.  As  was  pointed 
out  in  ancient  times,  Epicurus's  position  is  not  without  its  likeness  to  that  of 
Hegesias ;  the  great  difference  being  that  Epicurus  frankly  identifies  absence 
of  pain  with  the  ideal  itself. 


128    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Friendship,  too,  is  precious  as  a  fountainhead  of  pleasure 
and  a  bulwark  against  misfortune.  Superstition  is  recog- 
nized as  a  prime  cause  of  unnecessary  suffering;  and  Epi- 
curus by  teaching  that  death  ends  all  (so  that  there  is  nothing 
in  it  to  fear),  and  that  the  gods  in  their  eternal  bliss  are  too 
far  above  us  to  think  of  interfering  in  human  affairs,1  believed 
that  he  was  bestowing  a  great  blessing  upon  men. 

Absence  of  Pain  the  Greatest  Pleasure.  —  Of  the  distinc- 
tive features  in  his  view,  the  most  important  is  the  doctrine, 
that  between  pain  and  pleasure  there  is  no  middle  ground 
of  indifference,  but  that  with  the  total  removal  of  pain  one 
already  enjoys  the  most  intense  pleasure.  To  us  this  is  apt 
to  seem  ridiculous ;  but  the  Greeks  had  a  great  love  for  calm 
(yaXrivvj),  and  such  an  exaltation  of  it  appealed  to  many  as 
perfectly  just. 

Higher  and  Lower  Pleasures.  —  A  second  feature  is  the 
express  recognition  of  the  distinction  between  higher  and 
lower  pleasures,  though  these  are  not  understood  as  ultimate 
qualitative  terms.  The  lower  pleasures  are  those  which  are 
mixed  with  pain  or  followed  by  painful  consequences.  The 
higher  pleasures  are  free  from  evil  admixture  or  after-effect : 
they  are  literally  purer.  This  distinction  led  to  the  exalta- 
tion of  social  and  intellectual  pleasures  over  the  indulgence 
of  physical  appetites,  and  the  mode  of  life  of  the  genuine 
Epicurean  became  a  very  sober  affair. 

The  Storehouse  of  Memory.  Suicide.  —  Closely  con- 
nected is  the  cult  of  pleasant  memories.  With  these,  thought 
Epicurus,  one  could  so  store  one's  mind  that  even  amid  the 
worst  tortures  one  could  preserve  a  balance  of  pleasure.2 

1  Supposed  cases  of  divine  interference  were  all  to  be  explained  mechani- 
cally, according  to  an  atomic  theory  of  matter,  modeled  after  that  of  Democ- 
ritus  of  Abdera.      Epicurus's  physics,  however,  is  an  exceedingly  childish 
affair.     Like  Aristippus,  he  was  ignorant  of  mathematics. 

2  He  himself,  while  dying  in  great  pain,  wrote  to  a  friend:    "All  these 
Bufferings  are  counterbalanced  by  the  joy  in  the  memory  of  our  past  dis- 
cussions." 


HEDONISM  129 

Pain  "  when  severe  is  short  and  when  long  is  moderate  " ; 
and  if  we  will  but  banish  it  from  our  memories  it  is  more  than 
half  conquered.  Still,  if  pains  persist  in  returning  and  nag- 
ging at  us,  and  life  has  lost  its  charm,  it  is  always  possible 
to  leave  it  as  one  would  a  tasteless  comedy ;  and  this  thought 
must  always  be  a  comfort. 

NOTE 

With  all  its  simplicity,  the  pleasure-theory  contains  several 
distinct  elements  which  we  shall  do  well  to  distinguish. 

I.  There  is  the  general  theory  of  values :  that  for  each  man  his  own 
pleasure  and  pain  are  alone  good  and  evil  (desirable  and  objection- 
able) in  themselves ;  and  that  everything  else  is  good  or  evil  to  him, 
in  so  far  as  it  brings  him  pleasure  or  pain.  This  is  called  simply 
hedonism  (from  ijdor/i,  pleasure). 

Ha.  In  ancient  times  the  foregoing  theory  is  generally  based 
upon  a  certain  theory  as  to  the  objects  of  desire  and  aversion :  that  no 
animal  desires  anything  except  pleasure  for  its  own  sake,  or  avoids 
anything  except  pain  for  its  own  sake ;  all  things  else  being  desired 
or  avoided  on  account  of  the  pleasure  or  pain  expected  from  them. 
This  is  called  psychological  hedonism,  or  the  selfish  theory.  It  is 
easily  seen  that  the  hedonistic  theory  of  values  might  be  held, 
while  this  support  was  rejected ;  for  could  one  not  naively  desire 
things  for  their  own  sake,  even  though  upon  reflection  one  were 
compelled  to  admit  that  their  real  value  consisted  in  their  pleasure- 
producing  properties  ? 

b.  Some  Epicureans  held  that  as  a  result  of  habit  one  could  come 
to  desire  the  happiness  of  a  friend  for  its  own  sake ;  and  modern 
hedonists  have  applied  this  theory  much  more  widely. 

III.  There  is  a  theory  of  moral  values.  It  is  held  that  the  goodness 
of  virtue  and  the  evilness  of  vice  consist  in  their  tendency  to  pro- 
duce pleasure  and  pain  respectively.  This  is  called  ethical  hedonism. 
It  is,  of  course,  only  the  application  to  moral  values  of  the  general 
theory  of  values.  It  is  found  in  two  varieties,  the  one  characteristic 
of  ancient  ethics,  the  other  of  modern  ethics : 

a.  Only  the  individual's  own  pleasure  or  pain  (and  hence  only  the 
value  of  his  virtue  or  vice  to  himself)  is  counted.     This  is  called 
egoistic  hedonism. 

b.  Virtue  (or  vice)  in  conduct  or  character  consists  in  its  tendency 
to  increase  (or  decrease)  the  general  sum  of  pleasure  in  society  at 
large.     This  is  called  universalistic  hedonism,  or  utilitarianism. 

K 


130    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

The  terminology  is  somewhat  confusing,  and  the  student  is 
especially  in  danger  of  failing  to  distinguish  between  the  selfish 
theory  and  egoistic  hedonism.  This  error  must  be  avoided.  The 
selfish  theory  has,  in  fact,  often  been  entertained  by  utilitarians. 

REFERENCES 

PLATO,  Protagoras. 

DIOGENES  LAERTIUS,  Lives  of  the  Philosophers,  Books  IX,  X. 

CICERO,  De  Finibus  Bonorum  et  Malorum,  Books  I,  II. 

GROTE,  G.,  Plato  and  the  Other  Companions  of  Socrates,  Ch. 
XXXVIII. 

ZELLER,  E.,  Socrates  and  the  Socratic  Schools,  Ch.  XIV;  Stoics,  Epi- 
cureans, and  Sceptics,  Chs.  XIX,  XX. 

GOMPERZ,  T.,  Greek  Thinkers,  Book  IV,  Ch.  IX. 

WATSON,  J.,  Hedonistic  Theories,  Chs.  II,  III. 

WALLACE,  W.,  Epicureanism,  Ch.  VII. 

TAYLOR,  A.  E.,  Epicurus. 

HICKS,  R.  D.,  Stoic  and  Epicurean,  Ch.  V. 

MUIRHEAD,  J.  H.  Elements  of  Ethics,  Book  III,  Ch.  I. 

THILLY,  F.,  Introduction  to  Ethics,  Ch.  VI. 

WRIGHT,  H.  W.,  Self-Realization,  Part  II,  Ch.  II. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ENERGISM 
I.   GENERAL  FEATURES  OF  ANCIENT  ENERGISM 

The  Appeal  of  Energism.  —  If  hedonism  is  attractive  to 
many  minds  by  reason  of  its  simplicity,  it  is  repulsive  to  many 
others  by  reason  of  its  prosaic  bareness.  To  reduce  all  the 
values  of  human  experience  to  a  dead  level  —  to  measure 
poetry  and  morality,  or  even  athletic  sport,  as  one  measures 
the  pleasures  of  the  table  —  will  always  seem  to  some  minds 
a  grossly  mistaken  project. 

The  theory  of  energism,  or  self-realization,  avoids  this  dead- 
leveling.  It  starts  from  man  in  the  fullness  of  his  many- 
sided  nature ;  and  it  conceives  of  happiness  as  the  symmetri- 
cally rounded  life  of  such  a  man.  Instead  of  attempting 
to  eliminate  variety,  it  admits  it  on  principle.  Happiness 
is  pleasant,  but  that  is  only  the  beginning  of  its  characteris- 
tics. As  different  human  faculties  come  into  play,  different 
kinds  of  pleasure  are  experienced ;  and  to  eliminate  from  the 
description  of  the  happy  life  the  differences  of  kind,  is  to  fal- 
sify the  description  through  and  through. 

Self-realization  is  an  aim  that  appeals  to  honorable  pride 
and  ambition.  The  very  notion  that  there  is  in  oneself  an 
immanent  ideal  to  be  realized  is  to  many  men  inspiring.  To 
one  who  has  once  felt  this  inspiration  the  proposal  to  look 
for  happiness  in  uniform  bits  of  pleasure  such  as  any  beast 
might  feel  will  always  seem  ignoble.  It  is  not  a  mere  matter 
of  argument.  It  is  a  temperamental  reaction.  One  feels 
that  hedonism  may  have  truth  in  it,  but  that  it  does  not  do 
justice  to  the  dignity  of  man. 

131 


.32    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Plato  and  Aristotle :  their  Common  Features.  —  In  the 
present  chapter  we  have  to  consider  two  ancient  theories 
of  self-realization,  those  of  Plato  and  Aristotle.  Both  are 
comprehensively  designed  and  minutely  developed  theories ; 
and  they  cannot  be  satisfactorily  understood  without  much 
attention  to  detail.  But  there  are  certain  general  charac- 
teristics of  the  two  theories  that  may  easily  be  lost  sight  of 
in  a  detailed  treatment,  and  that  ought  to  be  understood 
throughout. 

1.  The  capacities  of  human  nature  are  supposed  to  be  fixed 
in  advance.    The  soul  has  a  certain  set  of  faculties  to  be  exer- 
cised.    Life  consists  in  exercising  them.     Neither  Plato  nor 
Aristotle  contemplates  the  possibility  (which  is  very  real  to 
us)  that  the  higher  faculties  of  man  are  products  of  social 
culture.     They  realize,  indeed,  that  among  civilized  men 
certain  faculties  are  exercised  which  their  barbaric  ancestors 
could  not  exercise;    for  example,  the  intuition  of  abstract 
truths.     But  the  reason,  as  they  see  it,  is  merely  that  those 
ancestors  lacked  the  necessary  security  and  leisure.     The  ad- 
vance of  civilization  simply  makes  possible  the  realization  of 
inner  potentialities  that  have  all  along  been  latent. 

2.  Moreover,  the  capacities  of  the  individual,  as  well  as  of 
the  race,  are  fixed  in  advance.     Most  men   are  defective. 
One  or  more  of  the  faculties  is  feeble  or  even  completely  want- 
ing in  them.     For  most  men,  therefore,  happiness  in  the  full 
sense  of  the  term  is  impossible. 

3.  The  set  of  human  faculties  is  an  ordered  system,  in  which 
each  has  a  definite  rank.     And  men  are  of  different  rank  ac- 
cording to  the  faculties  which  they  manifest. 

4.  The  lowest  of  men's  faculties  (such  as  hunger)  they  have 
in  common  with  the  beasts.     On  the  other  hand,  the  highest 
faculty,  and  the  rarest,  is  more  than  human,  for  it  is  common 
to  the  human  and  the  divine  nature.     This  is  pure  reason. 
Simply  to  know  truth,  with  no  further  end  in  view  —  that  is 
the  utmost  of  which  man  is  capable.    All  lower  activities 


ENERGISM  133 

may  rightly  be  regarded  as  only  the  external  conditions  of 
this  one.  And  the  great  bulk  of  mankind,  who  are  incapable 
of  pure  reason,  serve  no  higher  purpose  in  the  economy  of 
nature  than  to  give  peace  and  leisure  to  the  favored  few. 

5.  Plato  and  Aristotle  thought  of  the  individual  as,  pri- 
marily, the  citizen.  Life  meant  for  them,  first  and  foremost, 
civic  life.  Plato's  principal  ethical  work  is  the  Republic; 
and  Aristotle  expressly  treats  ethics  as  a  branch  of  politics. 
But  it  is  noteworthy  that  both  conceived  of  the  life  of  reason 
as  ultimately  an  individual  life.  The  state  must  establish 
the  conditions  under  which  leisure  to  think  is  possible ;  and 
it  is  in  the  contact  of  friend  with  friend  that  the  [stimulus 
and  direction  of  scientific  inquiry  are  found.  But,  in  the 
last  resort,  what  a  man  knows,  it  is  he  that  knows.  The 
supreme  happiness  of  contemplation  each  must  enjoy  for 
himself  alone. 

Thus  the  ancient  energism,  as  represented  by  these  preemi- 
nent thinkers,  is  anti-evolutionary,  aristocratic,  intellectualistic, 
and,  in  the  last  resort,  individualistic. 

II.   PLATO 

Comprehensiveness  of  his  Thought.  —  The  great  signifi- 
cance of  Plato's  ethics  (as  of  all  his  thought)  lies  in  its  syn- 
thetic character.  It  is  the  result  of  a  large-minded  attempt  to 
do  justice  to  all  the  various  one-sided  views  which  others  had 
assumed.  His  chief  inspiration  came  from  Socrates;  but 
in  the  working  out  of  his  system  Protagoras's  conception  of 
specific  moral  feelings,  trained  to  their  part  by  habituation, 
has  a  subordinate,  but  very  important  place.  By  the  rigor- 
ist  Antisthenes  he  was  probably  not  affected ;  difference  of 
character,  as  well  as  of  social  position,  put  a  chasm  between 
them.  But  that  virtue  is  a  good  in  itself,  and  not  simply  as 
a  means  to  pleasure,  was  a  doctrine  that  early  appealed  to  his 
own  generous  nature.  Aristippus,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
regarded  as  an  able  thinker,  with  whom  his  account  had  to 


134    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

be  made ;  and  he  returns  to  the  discussion  of  the  pleasure 
theory  repeatedly  in  the  course  of  his  long  literary  career. 

Life.  —  Plato,  better  than  any  other  man,  represents  the 
spirit  of  aristocracy  in  ethical  thought.  Born  in  a  noble 
and  wealthy  family  (of  which  he  was  intensely  proud)  he  had 
an  unmixed  contempt  for  the  masses  of  mankind.  Under 
the  influence  of  Socrates,  however,  he  came  to  believe  in  an 
aristocracy  of  intellect  rather  than  of  mere  birth,  though  al- 
ways believing  that  the  lowly  born  and  the  hopelessly  stupid 
were  generally  the  same.  From  his  youth  he  moved  in  liter- 
ary and  philosophical  circles.  With  Socrates  he  was  asso- 
ciated from  his  twentieth  year.  After  the  death  of  Socrates, 
he  traveled  widely,  visiting  Egypt,  Gyrene,  southern  Italy, 
and  Sicily,  pursuing  the  study  of  mathematics,  and  thus 
becoming  intimately  acquainted  with  members  of  the  Pythag- 
orean religious  society,  in  which  mathematics  had  been  ex- 
tensively cultivated.  The  influence  of  this  study  upon  his  ethi- 
cal theory  will  call  for  our  attention.  On  his  return  to  Athens, 
he  founded  a  philosophical  institute,  which  was  called  (from 
the  neighboring  '  gymnasium  '  or  public  park)  the  Academy. 
Here,  except  for  two  later  visits  to  Syracuse  (where  he  un- 
successfully attempted  to  influence  the  younger  Dionysius 
in  favor  of  his  advanced  political  ideas)  he  spent  the  remain- 
der of  his  life,  and  here  his  great  work  was  done :  oral  teach- 
ing, varied  by  literary  production  in  which  the  highest  talents 
of  the  poet,  the  systematic  thinker,  and  the  religious  enthu- 
siast are  combined. 

Ethical  Writings.  —  Plato  recognized  that  his  own  phi- 
losophy was  an  outgrowth  of  that  of  Socrates ;  and  his  earliest 
dialogues  (such  as  the  Hippias  Minor,  Protagoras,  Laches, 
Charmides,  and  Euthyphro)  are  largely  devoted  to  the  ex- 
position and  defense  of  Socrates's  views.  But  the  Socrates 
of  these  dialogues  is  most  keenly  interested  in  bringing  to 
light  certain  of  the  difficulties  involved  in  the  historical 
Socrates's  position ;  in  part  self-contradictions,  in  part  dis- 


ENERGISM  135 

agreements  with  common  moral  experience.  The  ethical 
doctrines  contained  in  the  dialogues  of  his  middle  and  later 
years  (the  Gorgias,  Meno,  Phaedo,  and  Republic,  and  the 
Philebus  and  Laws)  may  be  regarded  as  the  result  of  an  at- 
tempt to  solve  these  difficulties  in  the  master's  own  spirit. 

1.   The  Virtues  in  General 

Goodness  in  General.  —  If  we  examine  into  the  conditions 
under  which  anything  is  called  '  good/  we  always  find  a 
definiteness  of  proportion  in  the  relation  of  its  various  parts. 
Any  artist  or  artisan  in  his  work  chooses,  in  the  first  place, 
materials  that  he  can  shape  in  a  certain  way,  and  then  fits 
them  together  in  an  orderly  and  systematic  fashion.  So 
also  the  physical  trainer  does  not  try  to  make  any  one  muscle 
as  strong  as  possible,  but  to  develop  the  whole  body  sym- 
metrically. Carry  the  induction  as  far  as  we  may,  we  find 
that  goodness  is  always  marked  by  orderliness  and  regularity, 
badness  by  disorder. 

The  Virtues.  —  The  soul  is  no  exception.  Its  proper  con- 
dition, or  excellence,  is  marked  by  order.  And  this  is  what 
we  call  temperance,  courage,  justice,  and  piety;  and  the  in- 
sight by  which  the  order  is  established  we  call  wisdom. 
This  insight  is  either  knowledge  (which  it  must  be  if  the  virtue 
is  to  be  permanent  and  thoroughly  trustworthy)  or  right 
opinion,  which  is  all  that  most  men  possess.  (In  this  recog- 
nition of  common-sense  morality  as  possessing  a  certain 
value  despite  the  absence  of  exact  knowledge,  Plato  success- 
fully tones  down  one  of  Socrates's  extreme  views.) 

Distinction  Between  the  Virtues :  Earlier  Theory.  —  If 
now  we  proceed  to  ask  how  these  virtues  are  distinguished 
and  interrelated,  Plato's  first  answer  (in  the  Gorgias)  is  that 
temperance,  courage,  justice,  and  piety  are  all  the  same 
quality  of  orderliness  seen  in  different  relations.  Temper- 
ance is  orderliness  as  such.  Piety  and  justice  are  orderli- 
ness as  it  manifests  itself  in  conduct  toward  gods  and  men 


136    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

respectively.  Courage  is  orderliness  as  manifested  in  the 
pursuit  or  avoidance  of  anticipated  goods  and  evils.  The 
essential  condition  of  all  is  wisdom ;  for  we  must  follow  Soc- 
rates in  asserting  that  a  man  always  acts  as  seems  best  to 
him  at  the  time. 

Mature  Theory :  the  Problem.  —  But  in  his  most  impor- 
tant ethical  work,  the  Republic,  Plato's  theory  has  very 
materially  developed.  In  the  first  place,  he  is  no  longer 
content  to  define  the  virtues  in  terms  of  relations  to  various 
objects  or  situations.  He  insists  upon  knowing  what  they 
are  in  themselves,  as  qualities  of  the  soul  itself.  In  the  second 
place,  he  has  given  up  Socrates's  extreme  intellectualism, 
which,  indeed,  had  been  more  apparent  than  real,  and  had 
shown  its  inadequacy  the  more  clearly  to  Plato,  as  he 
learned  from  the  example  of  geometry  what  an  exact  science 
really  is. 

Analysis  of  the  Soul.  —  He  now  finds  that  the  soul  con- 
sists of  several  distinct  and  partly  independent  parts,  or 
faculties.  First,  there  is  reason,  by  which  we  have  knowledge 
and  opinion.  Secondly,  there  are  the  appetites,  which  are 
due  to  the  soul's  union  with  a  body  that  is  subject  to  constant 
wants.  Reason  and  appetite  have  nothing  in  common. 
But  there  is  a  third  faculty  which  has  something  of  the 
nature  of  both.  The  '  spirited  element '  it  is  called ;  by  which 
is  meant  susceptibility  to  the  emotions  that  hold  a  man  up  to 
a  standard  of  personal  dignity :  honor,  shame,  indignation. 
This  is  like  reason  in  the  fact  that  it  has  standards ;  and,  in- 
deed, these  standards  are  given  it  by  reason,  though  it  has 
to  be  trained  to  recognize  them.  It  is  like  appetite  in  the  way 
in  which  it  impels  men  to  action.  Now  reason  has  no  direct 
control  over  appetite,  on  account  of  their  utter  dissimilarity. 
There  is  no  argument  against  hunger.  It  is  only  through  the 
spirited  element,  by  means  of  the  standards  of  self-respect 
which  are  set  up,  that  reason  is  able  to  hold  appetite  in  check. 
The  Socratic  axiom,  that  every  man  chooses  what  seems  to 


ENERGISM  137 

him  best,  holds  good,  then,  only  in  so  far  as  the  spirited  ele- 
ment has  been  brought  by  training  into  conformity  with 
reason. 

Analogy  of  the  Man  and  the  State.  —  Upon  this  analysis 
of  the  soul,  Plato  now  bases  his  classification  of  the  virtues. 
In  order  to  guide  his  procedure,  he  calls  into  play  an  elaborate 
analogy  between  the  individual  and  the  state.  The  state 
contains  three  kinds  of  citizens,  distinguished  by  the  predomi- 
nance in  them  of  one  or  the  other  of  the  mental  faculties : 
the  philosophers,  or  men  of  intelligence ;  the  warriors,  or  men 
of  honor;  and  the  artisans  and  merchants,  or  men  of 
greed.  In  an  ideally  ordered  state  the  first  would  direct 
the  whole  administration  of  war  and  peace,  for  they  alone 
can  know  what  is  best.  But  because  the  men  of  greed  are 
unamenable  to  reason  the  only  way  in  which  they  can  be 
governed  is  through,  the  men  of  honor.  The  warriors 
must  be  trained  to  act  hi  accordance  with  the  standards 
which  the  philosophers  impose  upon  them,  and  they  must 
then  forcibly  keep  the  industrial, and  commercial  class  hi 
order. 

The  Virtues  in  the  State.  —  What  are  the  peculiar  excel- 
lences of  which  these  several  classes  are  capable?  The  uris- 
dom  of  the  state  is,  of  course,  lodged  in  the  philosopher- 
rulers;  it  is  their  insight  into  the  common  welfare.  The 
courage  of  the  state  belongs  to  the  warriors ;  it  is  their  fidel- 
ity to  the  standards  of  honor,  to  which  they  have  been 
trained.  The  industrial  class,  base  creatures,  are  capable 
of  no  virtue  except  as  the  warriors,  directed  by  the  philoso- 
phers, impose  it  on  them.  They  may  be  forced  to  put  such 
a  limit  to  their  cupidity  as  the  welfare  of  the  whole  state  de- 
mands, i.e.  to  be  temperate.  As  for  justice,  that  belongs  to 
no  class,  but  to  the  state  as  a  whole.  It  is  simply  the 
division  of  labor  between  the  classes,  by  which  each  performs 
its  own  function  without  loss  of  efficiency  through  friction  or 
misapplied  effort. 


138    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

The  Virtues  in  the  Individual.  —  As  applied  to  the  individ- 
ual, wisdom,  the  knowledge  of  the  good,  is  the  virtue  of 
reason.  Courage  is  the  virtue  of  the  rationally  trained 
spirited  element.  Temperance  is  the  virtue  imposed  by 
reason,  through  the  spirited  element,  upon  the  cowed  appe- 
tites. And  justice  is  the  harmonious  functioning  of  all  the 
faculties.1 

Plato  was  a  restless  thinker,  and  there  are  indications  that 
he  continued  to  remodel  his  ethical  doctrine,  as  well  as  other 
parts  of  his  philosophy.  But  this  is  his  latest  systematic 
account  of  the  virtues,  and  there  is  at  least  one  feature  in  it 
that  remained  undisturbed  to  the  end.  It  is  the  conception 
of  the  soul  as  a  complex  unity,  containing  a  rational  and  an 
irrational 2  element,  the  latter  requiring  training  under  the 
direction  of  the  former  in  order  to  acquire  its  proper  virtue. 
All  virtue  is  not  knowledge,  but  knowledge  is  essential  to  a 
high  development  of  virtue  —  though,  as  we  have  seen, 
the  knowledge  may  belong,  not  to  the  individual  in  question, 
but  to  those  by  whom  he  is  trained  and  governed. 

The  question  arises,  how  wisdom  itself  is  acquired.  The 
answer  involves  the  whole  of  Plato's  metaphysics.  We 
must  be  content  with  a  mere  sketch  of  the  leading  notions. 

2.  Wisdom 

The  Theory  of  Eternal  Forms.  —  Whenever  we  attempt  a 
scientific  definition  (Plato  observed),  it  is  always  of  something 
assumed  to  be  perfect,  a  standard  of  its  kind.  We  define 

1  This  seems  far-fetched,  and  except  for  the  analogy  of  the  state  it  would 
lack  all  plausibility.     But  the  student  must  remember  that  Plato's  problem 
is  to  define  justice  as  it  exists  in  the  just  man,  considered  entirely  apart  from 
his  relations  to  other  men.    So  also  the  justice  of  the  state  is  defined  entirely 
without  reference  to  its  relations  with  other  states.     Plato's  conception  is 
that  if  the  inner  harmony  exists,  the  external  harmony  will  follow  as  a  matter 
of  course. 

2  We  group  together  under  this  term  the  spirited  element  and  the  ap- 
petites. 


ENERGISM  139 

types,  not  the  particular  things  of  ordinary  sense-experience, 
with  their  multitude  of  peculiarities  and  imperfections.  The 
straight  line  of  science  is  not  the  edge  of  a  ruler,  or  the  path 
of  a  swift  projectile,  or  even  the  line  of  vision.  It  is  absolutely 
straight,  as  these  are  not. 

Now  it  was  a  widely  accepted  maxim  of  philosophy  that 
the  knowable  is  the  real;  that  whereas  what  appears  to  the 
senses  and  impresses  itself  upon  our  unscientific  opinion  is 
either  flitting  phenomenon,  passing  from  non-existence  to  exist- 
ence and  back  again  with  the  course  of  time,  or  else  a  mere 
illusion  of  ignorance,  what  is  manifest  to  reason  is  eternal. 
Plato  boldly  drew  the  conclusion  that  the  true  reality  is  not 
the  world  of  space  and  time,  but  a  system  of  eternal  typical 
forms  (£1877,  or  i8«u ;  the  latter  term  is  often  anglicized  as 
'  ideas/  which  is  sadly  confusing).  And  since,  in  the  last 
resort,  the  apparent  can  only  be  explained  in  terms  of  the 
real,  he  concluded  that  the  form-world  is  the  true  cause  of  the 
sensible  world  —  that  all  the  definable  character  of  the  latter 
is  due  to  the  active  presence  in  it  of  the  forms.  Thus  a  ruler 
is  straight  because  the  form  of  straightness  inheres  in  it ;  the 
wheel  is  round  because  roundness  is  in  it ;  Socrates  is  tem- 
perate because  temperance  is  in  him,  and  just  because  jus- 
tice is  in  him.  That  they  are  imperfect  is  due  to  matter, 
which  all  phenomena  contain,  and  which  is  the  source  of  all 
those  individual  irregularities  of  which  science  takes  no  ac- 
count. 

The  Hierarchy  of  Forms.  —  A  similar  relation  exists  among 
the  forms  themselves.  For  they  are  of  different  degrees; 
and  the  higher  ones  inhere  in  the  lower  and  give  them  char- 
acter, just  as  the  forms  in  general  do  to  sensible  things. 
Thus  the  circle  is  a  line  because  of  linearity;  justice  and 
temperance  are  good  because  of  goodness.  Goodness  is  the 
supreme  form,  for  it  inheres  in  all  the  others.  (They  are  all 
good,  and  every  sensible  thing  is  good  in  so  far  as  it  exempli- 
fies its  type.  That  is  why  goodness  in  anything  is  always 


140    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

marked  by  regularity.)  Hence  goodness  is  the  ultimate 
cause  of  all  things ;  and  since  things  are  explained  by  reveal- 
ing their  causes,  the  conception  of  goodness  is  the  ultimate 
explanation  of  everything,  temporal  or  eternal. 

The  Conceptions  of  the  Forms  —  Suggested  by  Particular 
Things.  —  The  question,  how  wisdom  is  acquired,  resolves 
itself,  therefore,  into  the  question,  how  the  conceptions  of 
the  several  virtues,  and  finally  of  goodness  itself,  are  brought 
to  mind.  There  is  a  curious  difficulty  here.  All  the  tem- 
perance, justice,  etc.,  which  we  have  ever  seen  in  men,  is 
imperfect;  and  yet  it  is  evidently  from  the  observation  of 
such  examples  that  we  arrive  at  the  conception  of  the  per- 
fect forms.  How  is  this  possible  ?  A  similar  question  arises 
in  connection  with  the  conceptions  of  geometry.  No  one  of 
us  has  ever  seen  a  perfect  square  or  circle.  The  physical 
objects  to  which  we  apply  these  terms,  even  the  diagrams 
which  we  draw  to  exemplify  them,  are  far  from  geometrical 
exactness.  Yet  it  is  clear  that  without  having  perceived 
these  imperfect  instances,  the  exact  conceptions  would  never 
have  occurred  to  us.  Obviously  the  physical  objects  suggest 
the  perfect  types  —  let  us  say,  by  reason  of  their  resemblance 
to  them.1  The  same  is,  of  course,  true  of  virtuous  men  and 
deeds.  They  suggest  to  us  the  conceptions  of  the  virtues  in 
their  purity. 

The  Spontaneity  of  Reason.  —  But  when  one  thing  brings 
another  to  mind  by  reason  of  the  resemblance  between 
them,  the  latter  thing  cannot  be  something  that  is  alto- 
gether strange  to  us.  If  the  sight  of  a  man  calls  up  his 
brother's  face,  the  image  of  the  brother  must  have  been  lin- 
gering in  our  memory ;  we  must  have  seen  him  at  some  time. 
Then  if  the  geometrical  diagram  or  the  good  man's  conduct 
suggests  to  us  the  perfect  square  or  circle  or  the  perfect  vir- 
tues, must  we  not  have  had  some  previous  intuition  of  these 

1  This  is  the  view  presented  in  the  Phado,  and  will  suffice  for  our  purpose 
here. 


ENERGISM  141 

absolute  types?  Plato  was  at  first  inclined  to  answer  this 
question  in  the  affirmative,  and  concluded  that  we  must  have 
had  an  existence  before  this  present  life,  when  the  intuition 
of  the  perfect  types  was  enjoyed.  Later,  however,  he 
dropped  this  fantastical  theory  —  perhaps  he  never  seriously 
committed  himself  to  it  —  in  favor  of  the  simpler  conclusion, 
that  the  conceptions  of  geometrical  and  ethical  types  belong 
to  the  structure  of  our  minds.  We  are  built  in  such  a  fashion, 
that  when  the  appropriate  suggestions  come  we  spontaneously 
think  these  thoughts.  So  it  is,  he  thinks,  with  all  possible 
science. 

The  Development  of  Wisdom.  —  Now  this  implies  that  the 
virtue  of  wisdon  belongs  naturally  to  all  men  that  are  capable 
of  it.1  It  needs  no  training  by  means  of  habit  and  exercise, 
as  other  virtues  do,  but  simply  an  awakening  through  appro- 
priate suggestions.  This  is  the  significance  of  the  Socratic 
method,  by  which  a  mere  series  of  questions  suffices  to  lead 
us  from  ignorance  to  knowledge.  All  knowledge  sets  out 
from  the  things  of  sense-experience,  passing  from  these  to 
the  lowest  forms  (those  of  mathematics),  and  gradually 
mounting  higher  and  higher  till  it  reaches  the  private  and 
public  virtues,  and,  last  of  all,  goodness  itself. 

Supreme  Value  of  Wisdom.  —  So  much  for  the  nature  and 
origin  of  wisdom.  A  word  must  be  added  as  to  the  relation 
between  wisdom  and  the  other  virtues.  Let  us  consider  first 
the  classes  in  the  ideal  state.  It  is  the  ruler's  knowledge 
of  the  eternal  forms  that  is  the  source  of  all  the  other  public 
virtues.  But  this  is  not  its  only  value.  To  the  rulers  them- 
selves it  is  its  least  value.  They  realize  that  it  is  only  hi  a 
well-ordered  community  that  men  like  themselves  could 
ever  develop.  They  realize,  too,  that  the  service  of  the  state 
calls  for  the  exercise  of  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind,  from  the 
lowest  to  the  highest.  And  yet  they  regard  the  work  of 

1  Plato  thinks  that  as  a  matter  of  fact  only  a  very  few  men  are  capable  of 
wisdom  —  dv0p<inruv  ytvos  Ppaxt  n. 


142    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

government,  not  as  a  supreme  self-realization,  but  as  an  un- 
avoidable distraction  from  their  highest  calling  —  the  con- 
templation of  eternal  reality.  It  is  the  same  in  the  individual. 
The  highest  function  of  reason  is  not  the  guidance  of  conduct, 
but  pure  theory.  As  Plato  expressed  it,  in  language  which 
has  been  much  admired,  the  whole  life  of  the  philosopher  is 
a  preparation  for  death,  i.e.  a  withdrawal  as  far  as  possible 
from  the  body  and  its  impressions  and  impulses.1  He  is 
a  man,  to  be  sure,  and  not  a  god,  and  the  wants  of  the  body 
are  ever  with  him ;  and  so  he  controls  them  as  best  he  may. 
But  so  far  as  he  can  he  puts  himself  in  a  sphere  where  courage, 
temperance,  and  even  justice  have  no  place  —  the  realm  of 
pure  theory. 

This  is  the  feature  of  Plato's  philosophy  that  called  forth 
the  tremendous  protest  of  stoicism. 

3.  Pleasure 

Insufficiency  of  Hedonism.  —  We  must  now  turn  to  an  as- 
pect of  Plato's  theory  which  has  had  the  strongest  influence 
upon  later  thought  —  his  treatment  of  pleasure.  It  has 
been  said  that  he  was  early  inclined  to  accept  a  hedonism  in 
which  all  virtue  was  reduced  to  wisdom  in  the  calculation  of 
pleasures  and  pains.  But  with  the  development  of  his  views 
an  identification  of  pleasure  and  goodness  became  impossible 
for  him.  For  goodness  meant  for  him  an  eternal  objective 
reality;  and  pleasure  is  only  too  obviously  an  evanescent 
feeling.  Besides,  to  seek  the  greatest  possible  amount  of 
pleasure  seemed  to  imply  that  one  let  one's  desires  of  all 
sorts  grow  to  the  full  extent  of  one's  power  to  satisfy  them ; 
and  this  clearly  left  out  of  account  the  character  of  regu- 
larity and  symmetry  which  a  good  state  of  the  soul  ought 
to  have. 

1  It  should  be  observed  that  according  to  Plato's  theory  of  immortality 
it  is  the  bodiless  reason  alone  —  not  the  appetites  or  even  the  half-congenial 
emotions  of  honor  —  that  lives  on. 


ENERGISM  143 

Classification  of  Goods.  —  Nevertheless  he  was  ready  to 
admit  that  unmixed  pleasure  is  a  good,  and  unmixed  pain 
an  evil ;  and  he  saw  also  that  the  experience  of  any  good  is 
indirectly  or  directly  pleasant.  Thus  he  recognizes  three 
classes  of  goods :  (1)  those  that  are  good  in  themselves,  but 
not  otherwise ;  (2)  those  that  are  good  as  means  to  ulterior 
ends;  and  (3)  those  that  are  good  both  as  means  and  as 
ends.  These  are  (1)  the  pleasant  (i.e.,  unmixed  pleasures, 
from  which  no  painful  consequences  proceed ;  (2)  the  use- 
ful; and  (3)  the  both  pleasant  and  useful.  The  odor  of  a 
violet  is  an  example  of  the  first;  uncongenial  work,  of  the 
second ;  and  vigorous  health,  of  the  third. 

Beauty  is  the  same  as  goodness :  it  is  goodness  as  it  appeals 
to  man's  spirited  element.  It  is  this  which  makes  the  well- 
trained  youth  love  goodness  before  he  is  able  to  distinguish  it 
rationally.  Beauty  has,  of  course,  the  same  divisions  as 
goodness  as  such.  The  beauty  of  a  bell-tone,  that  of  a 
spear,  and  that  of  a  ship  may  serve  as  examples. 

Virtue  is  placed  by  Plato  in  the  third  class  of  goods :  those 
that  are  good  both  as  means  and  as  ends.  That  virtue  is 
generally  useful,  is  conceded ;  and  a  due  examination  of  the 
conditions  of  social  pleasures,  and  of  the  peace  and  security 
which  are  necessary  for  the  full  enjoyment  of  even  physical 
pleasures,  shows  that  the  usefulness  of  virtue  is  great  beyond 
all  comparison.  But,  apart  from  its  usefulness,  it  has  a  value 
in  itself  which  exceeds  every  other  known  to  men.  For 
nothing  can  be  so  essential  to  a  man's  happiness  as  the  proper 
state  of  his  soul. 

Qualitative  Differences  Between  Pleasures.  —  Why  is  not 
this  to  all  practical  intents  a  hedonism?  Let  goodness-in- 
itself  be  what  you  please ;  if  goodness  as  we  experience  it  is 
always  pleasant,  what  more  could  Aristippus  ask  for?  Ad- 
mit that  it  is  goodness,  not  pleasantness  that  makes  anything 
good ;  if  the  two  are  inseparable,  what  is  the  difference  ? 
Plato's  answer  is  that  hedonism  fails  to  take  account  of  two 


144    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

essential  considerations :  first,  that  the  good  (as  has  been 
shown)  everywhere  exhibits  order  and  symmetry ;  secondly, 
that  pleasures  differ  in  kind,  and  this  difference  in  kind 
affects  their  value,  so  that  a  lesser  amount  of  pleasure  may 
often  be  better  than  a  greater  amount  of  another  kind.  The 
description  of  the  good  simply  as  pleasant  is,  therefore,  one- 
sided and  misleading.1 

More  explicitly,  he  believes  that  pleasures  differ  according 
to  the  faculty  whose  exercise  gives  rise  to  them.  There  are 
pleasures  of  satisfied  appetite,  pleasures  of  glory,  and  pleasures 
of  knowledge.  It  is  idle  to  compare  these  quantitatively. 
How,  then,  are  we  to  determine  their  order  of  worth?  The 
industrial  class,  the  warriors,  and  the  philosophers  each 
maintain  that  their  own  kind  of  pleasure  is  the  best.  But 
it  is  to  be  observed  that  the  artisans  and  merchants  have 
felt  only  the  pleasures  of  appetite;  the  warriors  have  felt 
these  and  glory  too ;  the  philosophers  alone  have  felt  them 
all.  Their  testimony,  therefore,  is  the  only  competent  one ; 
and  we  may  conclude  that  to  know  is  the  highest  pleasure  of 
which  man  is  capable. 

III.  ARISTOTLE 

Relation  to  Plato.  —  The  ethics  of  Aristotle  differs  from 
that  of  Plato's  riper  years  less  in  its  contents  than  in  its 
metaphysical  basis.  There  is  a  similar  distinction  between 
intellectual  and  moral  virtue  (to  use  Aristotle's  terms),  the 
former  developed  by  instruction,  the  latter  by  training. 
There  is  a  similar  interpretation  of  moral  virtue  as  consist- 

1  Plato's  direct  arguments  against  hedonism  are  for  the  most  part  of  only 
historical  interest.  (1)  Good  and  evil  are  logical  contraries,  i.e.  as  anything 
increases  in  goodness  it  decreases  in  badness,  and  vice  versa.  But  in  the 
satisfaction  of  desire,  the  desire  itself  is  painful,  and  the  appeasing  of  it  is 
pleasant;  and  yet  as  the  desire  diminishes  the  pleasure  of  appeasing  it 
diminishes  also,  and  they  finally  cease  together.  Hence  pleasure  and  pain 
are  not  logical  contraries,  and  cannot  be  identical  with  good  and  evil. 
(2)  The  good  in  anything  makes  it  good,  and  the  evil  in  it  makes  it  evil.  But 


ENERGISM  145 

ing  in  measured  symmetry.  There  is  the  same  exaltation 
of  truth  for  truth's  sake  above  all  other  human  interests,  and 
of  the  intellectual  few  above  the  masses.  There  is  the  same 
treatment  of  pleasure,  as  belonging  to  all  happiness,  but  as 
differing  in  quality  according  to  the  faculty  that  is  active 
in  experiencing  it;  and  consequently  the  same  rejection  of 
hedonism  as  a  very  one-sided  account  of  the  nature  of  the 
happy  life.  We  find,  however,  a  great  advance  in  precision 
of  statement,  due  in  part  to  controversy  with  other  pupils 
of  Plato. 

Life.  —  Aristotle  of  Stagira  belonged  to  a  family  of  physi- 
cians ;  and  his  philosophy  is  largely  due  to  a  revision  of  Plato's 
mathematically  minded  theories  in  the  light  of  biological 
evidences.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Academy,  as  pupil  and 
as  teacher,  from  his  nineteenth  to  his  thirty-eighth  year, 
when  Plato  died.  Later  he  was  for  three  years  the  tutor 
of  the  young  prince  Alexander  of  Macedon.  In  335  B.C. 
he  returned  to  Athens  and  established  a  new  philosophical 
school  near  the  gymnasium  called  "the  Lyceum.  (His  fol- 
lowers were  known  as  peripatetics,  i.e.  strollers,  from  their 
conversations  in  the  shady  walks  of  the  gymnasium.)  Here 
he  labored  until  the  death  of  Alexander,  when  his  unpopu- 
larity with  the  masses  made  it  dangerous  for  him  to  remain 
in  Athens.  He  died  in  Chalcis  in  the  following  year. 

1.  Metaphysical  Basis 

Form  and  Matter.  —  Aristotle's  most  striking  divergence 
from  Plato's  philosophy  is  seen  in  his  doctrine  that  reality 
is  not  mere  form,  but  the  concrete  individual,  to  which  both 

pleasure  in  a  man  makes  him  not  good  but  pleased ;  and  pain  in  him  makes 
him  not  evil  but  pained.  Both  of  these  arguments  obviously  confuse  the 
presence  of  a  quality  in  consciousness,  with  the  inherence  of  a  quality  in  an 
object.  Here,  as  so  often  in  the  history  of  human  thought,  the  man's 
hostile  criticisms  are  of  far  less  moment  than  his  positive  suggestions.  It  is 
because  Plato  feels  that  energism  is  true  that  he  casts  about  for  arguments 
to  prove  that  hedonism  is  false. 
L 


146    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

form  and  matter  belong.  With  one  exception  (to  be  noted 
shortly)  the  forms  have  no  existence  except  as  they  are 
exemplified  in  material  things.  If  all  the  particular  horses 
in  the  world  were  destroyed,  the  form  of  the  horse  would 
never  be  able  to  impress  itself  upon  matter  again.  Aristotle 
admits,  however,  that  all  the  definable  character  of  things 
is  due  to  the  forms ;  that  the  forms  are  unchangeable ; 
and  that  they  alone  are  strictly  knowable.  Matter  means, 
in  fact,  only  the  potentiality  of  receiving  form ;  while  form  is 
what  anything  actually  and  definitely  is.  There  is  no  un- 
formed matter,  for  that  would  be  mere  indefiniteness.  But 
a  pure  form  must  be  the  most  real  thing  in  the  world ;  for 
it  is  actual  through  and  through,  eternal,  and  changeless. 
By  arguments  which  we  cannot  here  reproduce,  Aristotle 
identifies  this  pure  form  with  a  Mind,  whose  only  activity 
is  the  contemplation  of  the  eternal  truths  which  its  own 
nature  contains;  which  Aristotle  regards  as  a  truly  divine 
bliss. 

The  Functions  of  the  Soul.  —  Again,  with  Aristotle,  the 
relation  of  higher  to  lower  forms  is  not  simply  that  the  higher 
inhere  in  the  lower  and  thus  give  them  character.  It  is  that 
the  higher  form  supervenes  upon  the  lower  form,  carrying 
the  development  of  the  individual  to  a  higher  stage.  Thus 
inorganic  matter  has  a  certain  form,  or  character.  But  the 
plant  has  all  this  and  more;  for  in  the  plant  a  higher  form, 
namely,  the  vegetable  '  soul '  (or  vital  principle),  has  super- 
vened upon  the  inorganic  form ;  so  that  the  merely  physical 
properties  of  the  plant  are  subordinate  to  the  functions  of 
nutrition  and  reproduction.  So  the  animal  is  all  that  the 
plant  is  and  more ;  for  its  vegetable  functions  are  subordinate 
to  the  functions  of  sense-perception  (including  memory  and 
imagination),  pleasure  and  pain,  desire,  and  locomotion, 
which  are  the  functions  of  the  animal  soul.  So  also  man  is 
an  animal  and  more.  The  distinctively  human  faculty,  i.e. 
reason,  has  no  direct  connection  with  the  body ;  but  it  acts 


ENERGISM  147 

upon  the  animal  faculties  in  man,  developing  perception  into 
inductive  knowledge,  and  desire  into  intelligent  will.  And 
in  addition  reason  has  two  functions  of  its  own,  in  which  it  is 
like  the  divine  mind  :  intuition  of  first  principles,  and  deduc- 
tion of  other  truths  from  these. 

Goodness.  —  As  for  the  form  of  the  good,  Aristotle  denies 
that  there  is  any.  Goodness  is  not  a  single  attribute  which 
all  good  things  have  in  common.  There  is  no  common  qual- 
ity belonging  to  a  good  grape,  a  good  reputation,  a  good  judg- 
ment, and  a  good  action.  Goodness  includes  any  number  of 
qualities,  held  together  only  by  their  similar  relation  to  our 
happiness,  i.e.  as  parts  of  it  or  as  somehow  contributing 
to  it.  Moreover,  if  there  were  a  form  of  the  good,  it  would 
be  of  no  importance  for  ethics.  For  ethics  has  nothing  to 
do  with  a  good  apart  from  us,  but  only  with  the  good  of 
human  experience ;  namely,  happiness. 

2.   Happiness 

Various  Theories  of  Happiness.  —  When  we  ask  what  it  is 
that  is  good,  not  as  a  means  to  further  ends,  but  as  an  end 
in  itself  for  which  all  else  is  valued,  men  are  well  agreed  in 
answering :  Happiness.  But  as  to  what  happiness  is,  they 
differ  greatly.  Is  it  something  such  as  health  or  wealth  or 
honor,  as  most  men  think  ?  Or  is  it  pleasure  or  knowledge  or 
virtue  generally,  or  a  combination  of  these,  as  philosophers 
have  thought  ?  Grant  that  these  things  (or  most  of  them) 
are  sometimes  desired  for  their  own  sakes ;  by  '  happiness  ' 
we  mean  something  that  is  always  desired  for  its  own  sake, 
and  never  for  the  sake  of  anything  else.  This  at  once  clearly 
rules  out  all  the  above  except  pleasure ;  for  even  knowledge 
and  virtue  are  desired  for  the  sake  of  happiness.  It  must 
be  added,  that  happiness  is  thought  of  as  all-sufficient,  so 
that  no  addition  of  anything  else  could  make  a  more  desir- 
able sum.  It  is  the  most  desirable  of  all  things.  This 
excludes  pleasure,  too.  For  who  would  be  willing  to  be  a 


148    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

lifelong  imbecile,  though  he  was  to  enjoy  the  most  intense 
childish  pleasures  all  the  time?  Moreover,  things  like 
sight,  memory,  and  the  various  virtues,  are  pleasant,  indeed ; 
but  we  should  desire  them  even  if  they  were  not.  We  thus 
require  not  simply  pleasure,  but  pleasure  of  a  certain  quality, 
and,  more  than  that,  the  various  kinds  of  concrete  experience 
with  which  pleasure  comes. 

The  Best  Life.  —  What,  then,  is  happiness?  Surely  a 
kind  of  life,  that  is  to  say,  the  best  life.  But  life  is  the  ac- 
tivity of  the  soul.  If  we  wish  to  find  the  best  life,  we  must 
see  what  the  soul's  faculties  are,  and  especially  what  faculties 
are  peculiar  to  man ;  for  we  do  not  think  of  plants  or  even 
animals  as  being  '  happy '  in  the  same  sense  in  which  man 
may  be.  Passing  over,  therefore,  the  functions  of  nutrition 
and  reproduction,  and  those  of  mere  sensation  and  impulse, 
we  may  say  that  the  happiness  of  man  is  to  be  found  in  the 
life  of  his  rational  nature  —  including,  of  course,  that  of  his 
senses  and  appetites  in  so  far  as  they  are  controlled  by  reason, 
as  well  as  the  activities  of  pure  reason  itself.  Within  these 
limits,  if  it  should  appear  that  any  one  function  (say  pure 
thought)  was  the  real  end  of  the  others,  happiness  would  lie 
in  it. 

Relation  of  Happiness  to  Virtue.  —  But  a  faculty  may 
function  well  or  ill,  as  is  evident  in  such  cases  as  digestion 
and  sight  and  hearing ;  and  this  is  true  also  of  the  rational 
nature.  By  happiness,  or  the  best  life,  we  mean,  of  course, 
right  functioning.  But  if  that  is  to  be  possible,  the  faculty 
must  be  in  a  certain  normal  condition ;  and  this  we  call  its 
excellence,  or  virtue.  Happiness  may  therefore  be  defined 
as  "  the  activity  of  the  soul  in  accordance  with  virtue,  or  (if 
there  be  several)  the  best  and  most  perfect  virtue  "  ;  to  which 
Aristotle  adds  that  one  needs,  of  course,  a  normal  term  of  years 
to  lead  such  a  life  in. 

Partial  Truth  of  Earlier  Theories.  —  This  conclusion  is 
confirmed  by  the  fact  that  it  curiously  combines  and  har- 


ENERGISM  149 

monizes  the  older  views.  It  does  not  identify  happiness 
with  virtue,  but  it  declares  that  it  must  be  according  to  virtue. 
A  distinction  is  here  drawn  between  virtue  and  happiness,  to 
which  Aristotle  attributes  great  importance.  Virtue  he 
regards  as  a  mere  condition  into  which  the  soul  may  be 
brought.  The  virtuous  man  is  no  less  virtuous  when  he  is 
asleep  or  in  any  other  way  hindered  from  manifesting  his 
virtue.  But  happiness  is  the  manifestation  of  virtue  in 
action.  Again,  according  to  this  view,  happiness  is  not 
pleasure ;  but  pleasure  always  attends  upon  happiness.  For 
it  must  be  noted  that  the  performance  of  any  function,  when 
we  are  in  the  right  state  for  it,  is  pleasant ;  the  quality  of  the 
pleasure  varying  according  to  the  function  concerned.  A  life 
according  to  virtue  is  thus  necessarily  a  pleasant  life ;  and,  on 
the  other  hand,  no  one  can  be  said  to  have  a  virtue  until  the 
conduct  which  it  calls  for  is  pleasant  to  him.  Finally,  even 
the  external  goods  are  included  after  a  fashion — namely,  either 
as  necessary  conditions  of  the  happy  life  or  as  instruments 
with  which  its  various  activities  are  carried  on.  For  to  live 
at  all  the  means  of  food  and  warmth  are  necessary ;  and  to 
live  in  a  desirable  way  much  more  is  necessary,  freedom  and 
leisure  especially ;  and  it  is  not  very  easy  to  be  happy  without 
some  degree  of  personal  comeliness  and  family  rank,  or  with- 
out the  comfort  of  friends  and  children.  So  also  one  cannot 
act  liberally  without  something  to  give,  or  courageously  with- 
out physical  strength.1  Good  fortune  is  thus  necessary  for 
complete  living;  still  it  is  the  life  itself  that  constitutes 
happiness. 

3.  Virtue 

Classification  of  Virtues.  —  Human  activities  are  of  two 
kinds :  pure  theory  and  practice.  The  former  is  the  func- 

i  In  the  same  spirit,  Plato  insists  that  the  virtuous  life  is  impossible  to 
the  chronic  invalid  —  "such  a  person  is  of  no  use  either  to  himself  or  to  the 
State." 


150    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

tion  of  reason  alone ;  first  in  the  intuition  of  fundamental 
truths,  and  secondly  in  the  deduction  of  other  necessary 
truths.  In  practical  activity,  while  reason  (in  the  sense  in 
which  it  acts  upon  the  lower  nature)  is  the  guide,  the  mo- 
tives are  given  by  the  appetites.  Three  divisions  of  virtue 
may  therefore  be  distinguished :  wisdom  (pertaining  to  pure 
reason) ;  prudence  (pertaining  to  practical  reason) ;  and  good 
character;  or,  grouping  the  first  two  together,  we  may  speak 
of  the  intellectual  and  the  moral  virtues. 

The  Acquirement  of  the  Virtues.  —  No  sort  of  virtue 
belongs  to  man  naturally  —  except  as  a  potentiality  of  his 
being.  Nature  gives  him  only  aptitudes  which  may  be 
developed  into  virtue  or  vice.  None  of  the  appetites  is,  as 
such,  good  or  bad;  nor  is  natural  cleverness.  Virtue  is  a 
form,  for  which  the  natural  man  is  the  appropriate  matter. 
The  intellectual  virtues  are  acquired  by  instruction.  More 
explicitly,  prudence  is  acquired  by  the  forming  of  correct 
inductions ;  while  when  induction  has  been  carried  far  enough 
the  faculties  of  pure  reason  are  awakened  into  activity,  and 
these  never  err  when  they  act  at  all.  The  moral  virtues 
are  acquired  by  habituation  to  correct  conduct.  Mere  theo- 
rizing will  no  more  secure  a  good  disposition  than  it  will  a 
sound  body. 

Moral  Virtue  :  the  Golden  Mean.  —  As  Plato  pointed  out, 
moral  virtue  always  shows  a  certain  symmetry ;  and  this  is 
seen  in  the  fact  that  every  such  virtue  is  a  mean  between  two 
extremes  of  excess  and  defect,  which  are  vices.  Thus  cour- 
age lies  between  rashness  and  cowardice,  temperance  be- 
tween self-indulgence  and  insensibility,  modesty  between 
bashfulness  and  shamelessness.  Not  that  the  mean  is  a 
mathematical  average,  for  it  often  lies  nearer  one  extreme 
than  the  other  (as  courage  lies  nearer  to  rashness  than  to 
cowardice) ;  and,  besides,  the  tendencies  in  each  direction 
vary  greatly  from  man  to  man.  It  is  a  point  which  prudence 
must  determine  as  well  as  may  be,  though  it  can  never  do  so 


ENERGISM  151 

with  absolute  accuracy.  For  conduct  consists  of  individual 
acts,  and  the  individual  is  never  susceptible  of  exact  scientific 
determination.  With  all  the  good  principles  which  experi- 
ence can  suggest,  there  is  always  necessary  a  certain  sense  of 
what  is  right  and  wrong  in  the  particular  case. 

Justice.  — All  this  applies  equally  to  justice — which,  how- 
ever, is  an  ambiguous  term.  Sometimes  it  means  simply 
'  obedience  to  law  ' ;  and  as  laws  are  made  for  the  enforce- 
ment of  all  sorts  of  virtues  so  far  as  the  community  is  affected 
by  them,  the  term  is  then  equivalent  to  good  character  in 
general.  Generally,  however,  it  is  taken  to  include  only 
the  virtue  displayed  in  the  transfer  of  '  external '  goods  and 
ills.  So  taken,  it  may  mean  either  (1),  in  the  distribution 
of  goods,  to  give  to  each  man  in  proportion  to  his  desert, 
or  (2),  in  the  requital  of  benefit  or  injury,  to  avoid  imposing 
upon  another  or  being  imposed  upon  oneself.  In  either 
sense,  it  is  clearly  a  mean  between  extremes.  In  the  precise 
application  of  the  term,  justice  applies  only  to  dealings 
between  free  and  equal  citizens,  living  under  subjection  to 
law.  Only  in  a  modified  sense  does  it  apply  to  the  relations 
between  master  and  slave,  or  father  and  children,  or  even 
husband  and  wife. 

Laws  are  partly  natural,  partly  conventional.  The  former 
are  valid  whether  we  recognize  them  or  not ;  the  latter  are 
the  work  of  the  legislative  body.  Even  the  natural  laws 
are  capable  of  some  modification  —  in  all  forms  of  life  some 
variation  from  the  type  is  to  be  expected.  But  the  type 
none  the  less  remains  fixed  eternally,  and  is  no  harder  to 
distinguish  than  other  natural  types.  The  whole  purpose 
of  the  state  is  the  common  interest  of  the  citizens ;  and  what 
makes  for  this  is  fundamentally  just.  Equity  is  the  correc- 
tion of  the  general  rules  of  justice  where  they  fail  to  fit  the 
particular  case  —  just  as  in  the  case  of  other  virtues  the 
general  principles  need  supplementation  by  a  native  sense 
of  right  and  wrong. 


152    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Relation  between  Prudence  and  Moral  Virtue.  —  If  pru- 
dence is  necessary  for  moral  virtue,  it  is  equally  true  that 
moral  virtue  is  necessary  for  the  development  of  prudence. 
The  basis  of  prudence  is  the  natural  sense  of  right  and  wrong 
in  particular  cases,  since  from  the  particular  feelings  all 
general  principles  must  be  derived,  even  including  the  con- 
ception of  happiness  itself  from  which  all  other  practical 
principles  depend.  But  experience  shows  that  in  men  of 
evil  character  the  sense  of  right  and  wrong  is  perverted,  and 
the  general  principles  are  wrongly  formed.1  Good  character 
and  prudence  are  thus  inseparable,  neither  being  possible 
without  the  other.  How  then  can  one  get  either?  Only 
by  being  trained  by  men  who  are  already  good.  By  being 
made  to  perform  acts  that  are  '  externally  '  right  —  we  can- 
not call  them  '  essentially '  right  or  good  until  they  express 
the  agent's  own  character  —  the  disposition  to  perform 
such  acts  is  acquired,  and  with  it  the  consciousness  of  the 
moral  principles  that  are  involved. 

Friendship  and  Citizenship.  —  In  the  systems  of  Plato 
and  Aristotle,  as  in  Greek  ethics  generally,  no  special  virtue 
of  love  or  benevolence  is  recognized.  The  place  is  taken 
by  the  notions  of  friendship  and  citizenship.  Love  is  not  a 
virtue,  if  only  that  it  is  a  natural  instinct  —  parental,  filial, 
fraternal,  sexual,  or  even  for  man  as  such ;  "for  man  is 


1  Hence  Aristotle  is  careful  to  distinguish  between  vice,  which  is  marked 
by  wrong  moral  principles,  and  incontinence,  which  is  marked  by  the  ineffi- 
cacy  of  correct  moral  principles  to  control  conduct.  The  incontinent  man, 
under  the  stress  of  emotion,  either  does  not  call  to  mind  his  moral  principles, 
or  if  he  does  recall  them  he  fails  to  realize  their  significance  —  they  are  like 
verses  recited  by  an  intoxicated  man.  (This  is  what  Socrates  failed  to  ob- 
serve.) Furthermore,  in  order  to  apply  general  principles  to  particular 
cases,  particular  observations  are  always  necessary ;  and  these  the  incon- 
tinent man  fails  to  make  impartially.  He  knows  (after  a  fashion)  that 
sweet  things  are  to  be  tasted  and  that  hurtful  things  are  not  to  be  tasted :  but  he 
observes  only  that  this  thing  is  sweet  (which  may  be  true) ,  while  he  overlooks 
the  fact  that  this  thing  is  hurtful.  Incontinence  may  therefore  be  said  to  be  a 
physiological  condition  analogous  to  sleep  or  madness  or  intoxication. 


ENERGISM  153 

always  akin  to  and  dear  to  man."  The  chief  '  forms  '  which 
this  natural  endowment  takes  are,  on  the  one  hand,  friend- 
ship, and  on  the  other  hand  the  institutions  comprised  in 
the  complex  organism  of  the  state.  Friendship  is  not, 
strictly  speaking,  a  virtue,  though  it  is  only  possible  at  its 
best  between  good  men  who  love  each  other  for  their  good- 
ness ;  and  the  friendship  of  the  good  is  a  great  help  to  in- 
crease in  virtue.  Besides,  the  true  friend  is  a  second  self; 
and  being  with  him  directly  intensifies  the  good  man's 
consciousness  of  life  —  that  is,  increases  his  happiness.  So 
also  we  find  no  special  virtue  of  patriotism;  but  this  is 
because  devotion  to  the  state  comprehends  all  the  moral 
virtues.  The  state  is  absolutely  necessary  for  man's  moral 
development ;  indeed  its  true  end  is  the  virtue  of  its  citizens. 

4.  The  Supremacy  of  Pure  Reason 

Of  the  two  kinds  of  activity,  practical  and  theoretical, 
which  is  the  best  ?  The  latter,  to  be  sure ;  for  it  is  the  exer- 
cise of  man's  supreme  faculty  —  the  ruling  element  which 
is  most  truly  himself.  Strictly  speaking,  therefore,  we 
should  say  that  happiness  is  simply  contemplation  of  truth. 
This  conclusion  may  be  confirmed  upon  various  grounds. 
Contemplation  of  truth  is  the  most  pleasant  of  all  activities. 
Even  the  search  for  truth  is  admittedly  very  pleasant  — 
how  much  more  so  must  be  the  actual  possession  of  it? 
Contemplation  depends  less  upon  external  conditions  than 
the  moral  life;  for  (aside  from  material  conditions)  the 
latter  absolutely  requires  men  toward  whom  to  act  morally, 
while  the  former  can  to  some  extent  go  on  in  isolation.  Con- 
templation is  desired  absolutely  for  its  own  sake ;  it  is  the 
very  essence  of  the  leisure  for  which  all  toil  is  spent.  But 
even  the  noblest  practical  activities  —  war  and  politics  — 
look  to  ends  beyond  themselves,  and  are  the  opposite  of 
leisurely.  And  if  a  life  of  pure  contemplation  would  be 
rather  divine  than  human  (for  though  reason  is  the  highest 


154    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

and  most  essential  element  in  man's  nature,  he  has  a  lower 
element  as  well),  nevertheless  it  behooves  man  to  put  off  his 
mortality  as  far  as  possible  and  live  in  the  exercise  of  his 
highest  faculty,  in  which  the  divine  life  solely  consists. 
As  a  man  among  men,  the  sage  will  choose  to  live  morally ; 
but  his  highest  life  is  an  absolute  selfishness  —  the  love  of 
what  is  best  in  himself.  It  is,  after  all,  as  an  animal — by 
virtue  of  his  lower  nature  —  that  man  is  social ;  and  even 
the  state  is  the  sphere  of  prudence,  not  of  wisdom.  The 
highest  end  which  the  state  can  accomplish  is  to  secure  to 
a  few  highly  endowed  individuals  the  leisure  for  private 
contemplation. 

IV.   CONCLUDING  COMMENTS 

Intellectual  Aristocracy.  —  Thus  the  ancient  energism, 
despite  its  endeavor  to  take  a  broad  view  of  life  and  its 
activities  —  or  perhaps  even  on  account  of  its  attempted 
breadth  of  view  —  tends  to  emphasize  the  importance  of 
those  activities  which  are  (or  were)  the  exclusive  privilege 
of  an  aristocracy.1  To  be  sure,  it  is  an  intellectual  aristoc- 

1  One  of  the  most  interesting  differences  in  the  social  ideals  of  the  two 
philosophers  is  seen  in  their  treatment  of  women  and  the  family.  Plato 
regards  the  family  as  an  institution  that  is  of  no  significance  for  the  upper 
classes  of  his  ideal  state.  It  would  simply  tend  to  weaken  their  civil  al- 
legiance. Temporary  unions,  designed  for  the  procreation  of  healthy  chil- 
dren, are  all  that  is  desirable.  It  is  even  better  if  parents  do  not  know  their 
own  children ;  for  then  all  men  and  women  (of  the  same  generation)  will 
have  their  children  in  common ;  and  all  children  will  be  brothers  and  sisters. 
The  women  of  these  classes,  like  the  men,  are  chosen  for  their  special  ability 
as  warriors  or  as  thinkers ;  and,  aside  from  childbearing,  their  lives  are  de- 
voted to  their  specialties  —  their  infants  being  cared  for  by  lower-class 
women.  For,  though  women  are  on  the  average  inferior  to  men  in  every 
respect,  they  vary  greatly,  and  even  a  woman  philosopher  is  not  impossible ; 
and  they  ought,  like  men,  to  be  classified  according  to  their  ability.  Aris- 
totle has  a  lower  estimate  of  women  and  a  higher  estimate  of  the  family. 
(It  is  amusing  to  note  that  Aristotle  was  a  married  man,  whereas  Plato  was 
not.)  The  institution  of  the  family,  he  thinks,  is  necessary  for  all  classes  of 
citizens ;  and  instead  of  weakening  civil  allegiance,  it  is  its  most  important 
source.  Moreover,  to  spread  out  the  relations  of  parents  and  children  and 


ENERGISM  155 

racy  —  for  the  professional  philosopher  it  could  hardly 
be  otherwise.  But  none  the  less  it  is  held  that  the  vast 
majority  of  men  are  born  incapable  of  true  happiness  and 
must  forever  remain  so.  Men  belong  naturally  to  different 
social  levels.  Some  men  (as  Aristotle  frankly  declared) 
are  born  masters,  and  some  are  born  slaves.  Greeks,  who 
are  a  superior  people,  ought  never  to  be  enslaved,  but  only 
barbarians.  Full  citizenship,  in  the  sense  of  membership 
in  the  sovereign  body,  is  a  privilege  that  belongs  by  right 
only  to  men  of  culture.  But  most  men  are  incapable  of 
culture.  The  ultimate  object  of  a  liberal  education  is  to 
fit  men  for  a  life  of  leisure ;  its  nearer  object  is  to  fit  men  for 
the  occupations  of  war  and  government  without  which  leisure 
is  impossible.  Thus,  in  Plato's  ideal  state,  only  the  rulers 
and  the  warriors  are  supposed  to  receive  any  education. 
The  masses  have  only  their  apprenticeship  in  their  various 
callings.  Such  a  low  happiness  as  they  are  capable  of  enjoy- 
ing is  provided  for  them  by  their  rulers'  care.  They  are 
irresponsible. 

Can  Ethics  be  made  an  Exact  Science?  —  If  now  we 
compare  the  Platonic  and  Aristotelian  systems  of  ethics, 
the  most  important  difference  that  emerges  lies  in  Aristotle's 
insistence  that  moral  virtue  can  never  be  a  subject  of  exact 
knowledge,  but  must  ever  remain  in  the  domain  of  indi- 
vidual perception,  or  tact.  Plato's  more  direct  followers 
in  the  Academy  refused  to  follow  this  lead.  They  still 
hoped  for  an  ethics  of  the  mathematical  pattern  —  a  system 
of  ideal  forms  of  character  and  conduct  by  which  the  life 
of  the  individual  and  the  state  might  be  guided.  However, 
the  difference  was  not  so  great  as  might  be  supposed,  as  the 
Academics  (like  Plato  himself)  were  perfectly  ready  to  admit 
that  in  the  practical  application  of  the  ideal  forms  they  must 

of  brothers  and  sisters,  as  Plato  suggests,  would  simply  destroy  their  value. 
But  women  are  radically  inferior  to  men,  and  none  are  capable  of  any  high 
degree  of  culture. 


156    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

always  be  adapted  to  the  particular  circumstances  which 
perception  disclosed. 

Academic  Skepticism.  —  It  is  somewhat  surprising  to  find 
that  while  Aristotle's  school  suffered  very  little  change  save 
a  gradual  decline,  Plato's  school  underwent  a  series  of  strik- 
ing revolutions.  Some  seventy  years  after  Plato's  death, 
Arcesilas  introduced  a  thorough-going  skepticism  into  the 
Academy ;  and  this  held  sway  there  for  two  hundred  years. 
The  skeptics,  of  whom  the  greatest  was  Carneades  (B.C.  213- 
129),  denied  the  possibility  of  exact  knowledge  altogether. 
We  never  get  beyond  the  possibility  of  error,  they  declared ; 
though  when  our  opinions  are  repeatedly  confirmed  they 
become  more  and  more  probable,  and  may  reach  a  practical 
certainty.  In  ethics  they  were  unwilling  to  commit  them- 
selves to  any  theory  of  the  chief  good.  Pleasure,  absence 
of  pain,  the  satisfaction  of  natural  appetites,  virtue  —  all 
these  are  plausible  ends  for  human  endeavor,  and  there  is 
no  need  to  reject  any  of  them.  Probability  is  our  only  guide ; 
and,  looking  to  it,  we  shall  not  be  carried  away  by  foolish 
passions.  Not  to  expect  too  much  from  nature  or  man  or 
ourselves,  and  to  be  content  (so  long  as  is  possible)  with  what 
befalls  —  that  is  the  way  to  enjoy  a  philosophic  calm. 

Eclecticism.  —  In  the  first  century  B.C.,  this  skepticism 
gradually  gave  way  to  a  dogmatic  eclectitism,  which  professed 
to  harmonize  the  ethical  teachings  of  Plato,  Aristotle,  and 
the  older  stoics,  and  presented  the  strange  mixture  that 
resulted,  as  a  perfect  science. 

REFERENCES 

PLATO,  Gorgias,  Crito,  Phcedo,  Symposium,  Republic. 
ARISTOTLE,  Nichomachean  Ethics,  especially  Books  I,  II,  X. 
BURNET,  J.,  Aristotle  on  Education. 
GREEN,  T.  H.,  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  II,  Ch.  IV. 
ZELLER,  E.,  Plato  and  the  Older  Academy,  Chs.  X,  XI ;  Aristotle  and 
the  Earlier  Peripatetics,  Ch.  XII. 


ENERGISM  157 

GOMPERZ,  T.,  Greek  Thinkers,  Book  V. 

CAIRD,  E.,  Evolution  of  Theology  in  the  Greek  Philosophers,  Lectures 

rv-vi,  xi. 

RITCHIE,  D.  G.,  Plato,  Ch.  VIII. 

TAYLOR,  A.  E.,  Plato;  and  Aristotte. 

SETH,  J.,  Study  of  Ethical  Principks,  Part  I,  Ch.  Ill,  xiv. 

THILLY,  F.,  Introduction  to  Ethics,  Ch.  VII. 

BENN,  A.  W.,  The  Philosophy  of  Greece,  Chs.  VII,  VIII. 

DICKINSON,  G.  L.,  The  Greek  View  of  Life,  especially  Ch.  III. 


CHAPTER  IX 
RIGORISM 

Democracy  in  Ethics.  —  As  the  ancient  energism  was  es- 
sentially aristocratic,  so  the  democratic  spirit  is  represented 
by  the  rigorism  of  the  cynics  and  stoics.  Happiness,  they 
declared,  is  open  in  its  fullness  to  every  man.  All  classes 
are  artificial.  The  virtue  of  master  and  slave,  of  the  high- 
born and  the  lowly,  of  man  and  woman,  are  the  same ;  and 
where  virtue  is  present  all  inequalities  are  leveled.  There 
are  no  conditions  of  fortune,  to  which  virtue  is  subject  in 
expressing  itself  in  conduct ;  and  the  life  according  to  virtue 
is  the  supreme  good. 

I.  THE  CYNICS 

History  of  the  School.  —  Antisthenes  was  the  illegitimate 
son  of  an  Athenian  citizen  and  a  Thracian  woman,  and  conse- 
quently had  not  himself  the  rights  of  citizenship ;  and  he 
was,  besides,  a  man  of  little  property.  No  doubt  these 
circumstances  had  their  effect  upon  his  philosophy.  He 
managed  to  obtain  a  good  education  —  he  was  a  pupil  of 
the  sophist  Gorgias  —  and  became  a  teacher  of  rhetoric. 
When  he  was  already  in  advanced  middle  life,  he  fell  under 
the  influence  of  Socrates,  and  gave  up  his  profession  in  order 
to  follow  him.  After  the  death  of  Socrates  he  commenced 
teaching  in  the  gymnasium  Cynosarges  (which  was  used 
by  the  half- Athenians) ;  from  which  he  and  his  disciples 
were  called  cynics.  The  word  also  carried  the  connotation 
of  dog-like  (as  if  from  KiW,  dog),  on  account  of  their 
contempt  for  the  luxuries  and  even  the  decencies  of  life; 
and  they  welcomed  this  interpretation  as  an  unintended 

158 


RIGORISM  159 

honor.  It  was  a  chief  aim  of  the  members  of  the  school  to 
exhibit  in  their  own  persons  how  independent  human  nature 
really  was  of  all  artificialities,  virtue  alone  being  sufficient 
at  all  times.  A  good  part  of  their  success  was  due  to  the 
fact,  that  in  spite  of  their  hard  manner  of  life  they  kept  them- 
selves constantly  in  the  best  of  physical  condition.  Among 
the  disciples  of  Antisthenes  was  the  famous  Diogenes  of 
Sinope  (who  sought '  a  man  '  in  the  daytime  with  a  lantern, 
and  made  himself  at  home  in  a  tub).  Diogenes  and  the  later 
cynics  (perhaps  Antisthenes  also)  lived  and  dressed  as  com- 
mon beggars.  Crates  of  Thebes  gave  away  considerable 
wealth  on  joining  them,  and  influenced  his  betrothed  wife 
Hipparchia  to  do  the  same.  At  the  end  of  the  fourth  cen- 
tury the  school  became  merged  in  stoicism. 

The  Nature  of  Virtue.  —  Antisthenes  follows  his  master 
in  holding  that  virtue  is  essentially  one,  and  entirely  com- 
prised in  wisdom,  or  prudence.  He  even  declares  that  every 
act  of  the  wise  man  is  in  accordance  with  all  virtue.  It  is 
impossible  to  be  wise  without  being  temperate,  to  be  tem- 
perate without  being  just,  to  be  just  without  being  brave. 
And  as  Socrates  held  that  knowledge  was  unshakable  by 
passion,  so  Antisthenes  holds  that,  once  acquired,  it  can 
never  be  taken  away.  Wisdom,  however,  is  by  no  means 
so  abstractly  intellectual  a  matter  as  the  mathematician 
Plato  supposes.  To  acquire  it  the  exercise  of  the  body  is 
necessary  as  well  as  the  education  of  the  soul.  Moreover, 
the  amount  of  knowledge  that  is  necessary  is  not  great. 
Virtue  is  a  thing  of  deeds,  not  of  wordy  erudition.  A  so- 
called  '  liberal '  education  is  of  no  real  use.  It  is  simply  a 
temptation  to  turn  one's  attention  to  non-essentials. 

The  Cynic  Paradoxes.  —  According  to  Socrates,  virtue 
is  the  one  unconditional  good.  But  since  the  right  use  of 
all  other  things  depends  upon  virtue,  Antisthenes  prefers 
to  say  that  it  is  the  only  good.  So  also,  vice  is  the  only 
evil.  All  else  is  in  itself  indifferent,  becoming  good  or  evil 


160    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

only  as  it  is  virtuously  or  viciously  incurred.  Antisthenes 
loved  to  startle  his  hearers  by  paradoxical  expressions  of 
this  principle.  Labor  (TTO'VOS),  he  said,  was  good ;  and  the 
saying  gained  point  from  the  fact  that  the  Greeks  used  this 
word,  as  we  use  '  pain/  to  include  all  kinds  of  trouble  and 
suffering,  making  it  the  direct  opposite  of  pleasure  (iJoWi}). 
And  he  equally  declared  that  pleasure  was  an  evil.  "  I 
would  rather  be  mad  than  pleased,"  is  one  of  the  sayings 
attributed  to  him.  But  he  illustrated  his  praise  of  labor 
by  the  story  of  the  great  Hercules  (the  bastard-god,  whom 
he  delighted  to  honor),  which  he  interpreted  as  an  heroic 
perseverance  in  duty,  in  defiance  of  all  obstacles.  Even  so, 
every  good  man  must  labor  to  withstand  temptation  and 
subdue  passion.  So  with  pleasure.  The  pleasures  that 
follow  labor  are  worth  pursuing,  but  not  those  that  precede 
labor  —  or,  as  it  is  elsewhere  put,  those  that  call  for  regret. 
Pleasure  as  such  is  valueless,  not  worth  stretching  out  a 
finger  for.  The  same  sort  of  judgment  is  passed  upon  the 
other  things  that  men  ordinarily  most  desire  or  fear.  Ill- 
report  is  a  good  thing  —  as  good  as  labor.  Praise  does  not 
call  for  thanks.  Enemies  serve  one  purpose  of  the  truest 
friends,  for  they  detect  and  reveal  our  faults.  Wealth  with- 
out virtue  gives  no  pleasure,  and  no  good  man  can  love  it. 
Death  is  the  crowning  moment  of  a  happy  life.1 

The  Sufficiency  of  Virtue.  —  Virtue,  then,  is  sufficient  for 
happiness ; 2  in  fact  happiness  is  nothing  else  than  to  live 
according  to  virtue.  The  wise  man  is  absolutely  superior 
to  fortune.  He  regards  all  evils  as  not  affecting  him.  If  he 
is  the  son  of  a  slave,  he  is  still  well-born ;  he  has  untold  riches 
in  his  mind ;  he  is  lovable,  and  all  the  good  are  his  friends ; 
nothing  is  strange  or  difficult  to  him ;  and  he  has  a  weapon 

1  We  are  told  that  Antisthenes  regarded  immortality,  not  as  the  universal 
possession  of  men,  but  as  the  privilege  of  the  just  and  holy. 

2  One  of  the  ancient  accounts  adds :   "It  needs  nothing  additional  except 
the  strength  of  Socrates."     This  is  inexact,  for  strength  is  an  essential 
aspect  of  virtue  itself. 


RIGORISM  161 

of  defense  of  which  nothing  can  deprive  him.  All  that 
others  have  is  his;  for  he  is  without  envy.  He  is  the 
true  king,  for  he  is  his  own  ruler  and  stands  in  fear  of  no 
man. 

The  Moral  Standard.  —  But  just  what  is  virtue?  It  is 
prudence,  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil.  But  now,  if 
we  content  ourselves  with  saying  that  the  good  is  that  which 
is  according  to  virtue,  we  are  wandering  in  a  circle.  That 
refined  dialectician,  Euclid  of  Megara,  fell  into  just  this 
difficulty.  Some  sort  of  standard  is  necessary,  if  one  is  to 
escape.  Antisthenes  has  a  standard,  though  it  is  a  peculiarly 
negative  one.  It  is  the  absolute  independence  of  the  virtuous 
man.  For  since  virtue  is  sufficient  for  happiness,  the  virtuous 
man  must  be  self-sufficient.  He  must  feel  no  need  that  must 
be  satisfied  from  without,  except  those  that  are  inseparable 
from  the  support  of  life  and  health;  and  when  these  are 
unsupplied  he  keeps  his  independence  by  simply  dying  with- 
out a  struggle  or  regret.  So  long  as  he  lives,  he  stands  hi  his 
own  might,  "  setting  nothing  above  liberty  "  (Diogenes). 

The  Cynic  Conception  of  Nature.  —  Here  was  involved 
the  old  sophistic  antithesis  of  nature  and  convention.  But 
Antisthenes  (and  still  more  his  successors)  applied  it  in  a 
way  of  which  the  sophists  never  dreamed.  For  what  was 
natural  was  now  interpreted  to  mean,  what  the  health  of 
the  individual  and  the  preservation  of  the  race  demanded. 
And  they  found  that  man  was  a  remarkably  tough  animal. 
A  single  rough  garment  was  enough  protection ;  the  simplest 
fare  maintained  his  vigor;  he  needed  no  house  (though 
Antisthenes  had  one) ;  and  he  could  lie  down  anywhere. 
Antisthenes  and  Diogenes  made  studies  of  the  habits  of 
savages,  and  even  of  the  lower  animals,  in  order  to  deter- 
mine with  exactness  what  primitive  man  was  like.  Once 
started  on  this  line,  the  cynics  found  no  stopping-place. 
Diogenes  went  so  far  as  to  justify  cannibalism  and  incest. 
Antisthenes  believed  in  marriage  (for  the  sake  of  offspring) 


162    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

and  in  connubial  love  —  "  f or  the  wise  man  knows  who  ought 
to  be  loved."  But  Diogenes  found  marriage  superfluous  — 
a  community  of  wives  and  children  was  much  simpler.  Again, 
Antisthenes  believed  in  patriotism,  and  even  in  an  active 
participation  in  politics ;  and  several  of  the  maxims  attrib- 
uted to  him  are  political  counsels.  "  The  safest  city  wall 
is  prudence ;  for  it  cannot  fall  or  be  betray ed."  "  Cities 
are  destroyed  when  they  cannot  distinguish  wicked  from 
good  men."  But  the  later  cynics  found  patriotism  irra- 
tional ;  they  were  citizens  of  the  world.  It  is  to  their  lasting 
credit  that  they  were  among  the  first  Greeks  to  denounce 
slavery  as  an  unnatural  institution. 

Shamelessness.  —  The  wise  man,  as  we  have  seen,  is  suffi- 
cient to  himself ;  and  in  following  nature  he  counts  as  noth- 
ing the  opinions  of  other  men.  He  is  utterly  shameless.  "  It 
is  for  a  king  to  do  well  and  be  ill  spoken  of."  Here  again 
the  disciples  went  far  beyond  the  master.  Antisthenes  seems 
to  have  set  no  store  by  wantonly  offending  the  suscepti- 
bilities of  others.  But  the  later  cynics  prided,  themselves 
upon  their  disregard  of  all  the  rules  of  decency. 

*  Apathy.'  —  Finally,  in  being  true  to  nature,  the  wise  man 
is  free  from  all  violence  of  passion ;  for  this  is  entirely  due  to 
groundless  opinions.  And  how  can  a  man  be  swayed  by  pas- 
sion, when  he  has  in  his  own  power  all  that  is  necessary  for  his 
welfare?  He  enjoys  the  equanimity  (faraQia}  of  the  con- 
sciously strong.  Not  that  the  cynic  was  a  stock  or  a  stone. 
He  knew,  for  instance,  how  to  love  his  friends.  But  what- 
ever emotion  he  might  feel,  he  did  not  propose  to  stake  his 
happiness  upon  anything  outside  himself. 

Religion.  —  It  is  noteworthy  that  the  notion  of  a  god  plays 
no  part  in  the  cynic  system  of  morals.  A  god  is  not  neces- 
sary as  a  lawgiver  (except  as  the  creator  is  necessarily  in  some 
sort  a  lawgiver),  for  man's  own  nature  is  the  supreme  law. 
And  he  is  not  needed  to  reward  the  good,  for  the  very  essence 
of  their  goodness  is  absolute  self-sufficiency.  Antisthenes 


RIGORISM  163 

did  believe  in  a  single  supreme  God,  who  was  unlike  any 
created  thing  and  was  not  to  be  represented  by  any  image. 
He  went  further  than  Socrates,  in  declaring  that  the  gods 
of  the  popular  religion  were  mere  *  convention/  But  noth- 
ing positive  in  his  conception  of  God  is  recorded;  and  it 
seems  to  have  played  a  very  small  part  in  his  philosophy. 

II.  THE  STOICS 

Relation  to  Cynicism.  —  The  last  of  the  great  ethical  sys- 
tems of  the  pagan  era,  and  (until  the  rise  of  Christianity) 
the  strongest  positive  moral  influence  in  the  world,  was 
stoicism,  founded  by  Zeno  of  Citium  about  the  end  of  the 
fourth  century.  Its  founder  had  been  a  pupil  of  Crates 
the  cynic,  and  in  his  teaching  most  of  the  characteristic 
notions  of  the  cynics  were  incorporated  —  except,  indeed, 
their  athleticism,  which  was  a  natural  omission,  as  Zeno 
was  a  lifelong  invalid.  The  cynics  had  taught  that  the 
only  good  is  virtue,  the  only  evil  vice;  that  happiness  is 
life  according  to  virtue,  and  any  other  life  is  misery;  that 
pleasure  and  pain  and  all  things  else  are  indifferent;  that 
virtue  is  freedom  from  all  that  is  external  to  one's  nature, 
i.e.  from  habits  and  opinions  and  the  needs  and  passions 
thence  arising.  All  this  is  good  stoic  doctrine.  What  is 
new  in  the  ethics  of  Zeno  and  his  successors  is,  first,  a  half 
metaphysical,  half  religious  background;  and  secondly,  a 
genetic  theory  of  the  relation  of  morality  to  instinct.  Beyond 
this  we  have  only  elaborations  of  cynicism. 

1.  The  Background 

The  Universal  Nature.  —  The  first  of  these,  though  im- 
portant in  other  connections,  can  receive  only  brief  considera- 
tion here.  The  stoics  were  materialistic  pantheists.  They 
believed  that  mind  and  matter  are  not  two  kinds  of  substance, 
but  that  mind  is  a  kind  of  matter,  an  omnipresent  ether, 


164    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

or  fire.1  It  is  active  matter  as  distinguished  from  the  passive 
matter  with  which  it  is  everywhere  united ;  in  other  words, 
God,  the  soul  of  the  universe.  All  the  processes  of  nature 
are  his  life,  the  self-expression  of  his  nature;  wherefore 
the  universe,  with  all  that  it  contains,  is  absolutely  perfect. 
And  as  his  nature  is  eternal  and  rational,  all  that  takes  place 
is  in  accordance  with  invariable  law. 

Human  Nature.  —  Human  reason  is,  as  it  were,  a  spark 
of  the  universal  fire.  Our  nature  is  the  same  as  the  cosmic 
nature.  We  are  free  beings;  not,  indeed,  as  if  we  were 
able  to  change  the  course  of  things,  for  this  we  cannot  do; 
but  free  to  assent  to,  or  to  dissent  from,  what  is  necessary. 
To  assent  is  to  agree  with  the  universal  nature,  and  hence 
also  with  our  own  nature.  To  dissent  is  to  be  at  odds 
with  the  world  and  with  ourselves. 

2.  The  Relation  of  Morality  to  Instinct 

The  Primitive  Instincts  and  their  Objects.  —  The  first 
actions  of  every  sentient  creature  are  impelled,  not  (as  the 
hedonists  thought)  by  the  love  of  pleasure,  but  by  the  in- 
stincts of  self-preservation.  The  newborn  animal  feels  its 
own  existence  and  clings  to  life  and  health ;  and  it  is  impelled 
toward  things  that  are  necessary  or  wholesome,  while  it 
shrinks  from  death  and  from  all  that  seems  to  threaten  death. 
By  examination  we  can  make  out  for  each  species  a  list  of 
the  objects  of  its  natural  affection.  The  body  and  its  parts, 
and  appropriate  food  and  protection,  will  be  universally 
included ;  and  in  the  case  of  man  we  must  add  truth,  whether 
gained  through  direct  perception  or  through  correct  reasoning. 

Value  and  its  Gradations.  —  Now  the  general  process 
by  which  new  objects  of  choice  are  added  to  that  which 
instinct  dictates,  is  simply  this :  that  we  choose  the  things 

1  The  latter  term  is  from  the  old  cosmologist,  Heraclitus  of  Ephesus, 
whose  enigmatic  sayings  the  stoics  were  fond  of  interpreting  as  anticipa- 
tions of  their  own  doctrine. 


RIGORISM  165 

which,  we  perceive,  tend  to  secure  the  objects  of  instinctive 
(or  previously  developed)  choice.  Such  things,  like  the 
primary  objects  themselves,  are  said  to  be  in  harmony  with 
nature,  and  to  have  value;  while  things  of  a  contrary  ten- 
dency are  said  to  be  contrary  to  nature,  and  to  have  negative 
value.  As  the  power  of  reflection  begins,  it  is  seen  that  the 
choice  of  valuable  things  (fitting  conduct)  is  itself  of  value, 
being  preferable  to  heedless  choice ;  and,  further,  that  the 
habitual  fitting  choice  is  valuable  as  compared  with  the  merely 
occasional.  And,  finally,  as  the  faculty  of  abstract  thought 
matures,  there  arises  a  perception  of  fitness  itself ;  and  the 
complete  ordering  of  life  by  this  principle,  making  a  life 
according  to  reason,  is  seen  to  be  in  the  highest  degree  fitting 
and  valuable.  But  this  is  what  we  mean  by  virtue. 

Goodness.  —  At  once,  however,  it  is  clear,  that  such  a 
life  is  more  than  merely  valuable.  To  be  absolutely  governed 
in  one's  conduct  by  the  rational  perception  of  fitness  is 
good.  This  word  '  good  '  has  been  loosely  used  by  the  would- 
be  catholic  Plato  and  his  successors.  To  speak  of  '  external 
goods  ;  and  '  goods  of  the  body  '  is  outrageous.  The  objects 
of  natural  affection,  all  things  in  harmony  with  nature, 
and  even  fitting  acts  and  habits,  are  simply  valuable.  The 
fitting  act  that  is  committed  simply  because  it  is  fitting  — 
in  other  words,  the  right  act  —  is  not  only  valuable  but 
good. 

Is  this  to  quarrel  about  terms?  Yes;  but  terms  are 
important  when  they  express  differences  in  kind.  The  dif- 
ference between  goodness  and  other  values  is  such  a  differ- 
ence. 

Some  Distinctions  of  Terms.  —  The  good  is  man's  well- 
being,  or  happiness,  and  thus  is  worthy  of  being  desired; 
while  the  merely  valuable  forms  no  part  of  true  happiness, 
and  is  not  worthy  of  being  desired.  The  merely  valuable 
is  more  or  less  acceptable;  that  is  to  say,  when  it  is  a  matter 
of  choice,  it  is  fitting  to  choose  the  more  valuable  in  prefer- 


166    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

ence  to  the  less  valuable.  Similarly,  what  is  contrary  to 
nature,  and  thus  has  negative  value,  is  more  or  less  unaccept- 
able, though  not  necessarily  evil.  Wrong  conduct  is  indeed 
evil;  by  which  is  meant  the  unfit  conduct  of  a  rational 
agent,  as  indicating  the  blindness  of  reason  to  its  unfitness. 
What  is  neither  good  nor  evil  is  indifferent.  What  has  no 
value  at  all,  either  positive  or  negative,  is  utterly  indifferent, 
or  neutral.1 

Let  us  illustrate  some  of  these  distinctions.  Wealth  is 
acceptable,  and  poverty  is  unacceptable.  Wealth  has  a 
positive  value,  because  it  enables  the  possessor  to  provide 
the  things  that  are  necessary  for  the  satisfaction  of  his  natural 
impulses ;  while  poverty  has  a  negative  value.  If  we  have 
to  choose  between  them,  the  former  is  to  be  preferred ;  to 
choose  it  is  the  fitting  thing  to  do.  But  the  virtuous  man 
does  not  desire  wealth.  He  does  not  think  of  it  as  something 
essential  to  his  well-being.  He  does  not,  so  to  speak,  set 
his  heart  upon  it.  The  loss  of  wealth  leaves  him  as  happy 
as  before.  But  he  does  desire  to  live  rationally  by  being 
diligent  in  his  business  and  administering  his  property  eco- 
nomically. For  such  (rational)  conduct  is  right  and  good. 
So  also  he  does  not  desire  health,  nor  is  he  unhappy  in  sick- 
ness; but  he  does  desire  to  live  rationally  by  obeying  all 
hygienic  laws. 

Summary.  —  The  essential  points  to  be  noted  are  these : 
Moral  value,  or  goodness,  is  late  in  the  order  of  temporal 
development,  but  is  not  for  that  reason  inferior.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  a  distinctly  higher  product.  It  arises  as  an 

1  The  following  table  of  contrasted  terms  may  be  of  service : 

In  harmony  with  (contrary  to)  In  harmony  with  (contrary  to) 

nature :  reason : 

valuable  —  having       negative  good  —  evil  —  indifferent 

value  —  neutral 

fitting  (duty)  —  unfitting  right  —  wrong 

acceptable  —  unacceptable  desirable  —  objectionable 

convenience  —  inconvenience  benefit  —  injury 


RIGORISM  167 

indirect  means  to  the  securing  of  the  objects  of  natural  pref- 
erence. But,  having  thus  arisen,  it  is  of  a  radically  different 
nature  from  these  objects.  In  a  sense  it  continues  to  be 
dependent  upon  them ;  that  is  to  say,  it  is  dependent  upon 
the  distinction  between  things  acceptable  and  unacceptable. 
For  if  there  were  no  such  distinction  there  would  be  no  possi- 
bility of  rational  choice.  But  as  soon  as  virtue  exists,  it  is 
absolutely  independent  of  the  actual  presence  of  anything 
whatsoever  —  even  of  the  continuance  of  life  itself.  For 
death  is  not  an  evil ;  and  when  it  is  fitting  for  the  virtuous 
man  to  die,  his  acceptance  of  death  is  the  last  act  of  a  happy 
life. 

3.  The  Stoic  Paradoxes 

Verbal  Paradoxes.  —  The  conclusions  which  the  stoics 
immediately  proceed  to  draw  from  these  doctrines  are  among 
the  most  notorious  of  paradoxes.  Some  of  them,  to  be  sure, 
are  only  verbal.  When  it  is  said  that  physical  pain  is  not  an 
evil,  it  must  be  understood  that  it  is  nevertheless  exceedingly 
unacceptable,  and  that  a  very  strong  revulsion  is  naturally 
caused  by  it.  When  it  is  said  that  the  wise  man  is  as  happy 
in  sickness,  poverty,  and  ill-repute  as  in  health,  riches,  and 
honor,  the  meaning  is  that  he  is  as  virtuous,  and  hence,  as 
we  may  phrase  it,  as  worthy  of  emulation.  But  others  of 
the  paradoxes  are  more  than  verbal.  In  general  these  may 
be  described  as  attempts  to  give  precision  to  the  various 
distinctions  set  forth  above.  Several  of  the  most  important 
are  restatements  of  qualitative  distinctions  in  quantitative  terms. 

No  Mixture  of  Virtue  and  Vice.  —  In  the  first  place,  it 
is  maintained  that  the  division  of  men  into  virtuous  and 
vicious  admits  of  no  middle  ground.  There  are  no  partly 
virtuous  and  partly  vicious  men.  When  reason  controls 
conduct  it  does  so  absolutely  and  at  all  times.  Men  are 
either  virtuous  or  vicious;  and  whereas  every  act  of  the 
virtuous  man  is  right,  every  act  of  the  vicious  man  is  either 
indifferent  (in  case  it  happens  to  be  fitting)  or  wrong. 


168    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

No  Gradations  of  Virtue  or  Vice.  —  In  the  second  place 
it  is  said  that  all  virtue  is  equally  great ;  that  is  to  say,  in 
the  sphere  of  the  good  there  is  no  better  or  worse.  All 
good  men  are  equally  estimable,  and  all  their  acts  are  per- 
fect. The  like  is  said  of  vice.  To  steal  a  penny  is  as  evil 
as  to  betray  one's  country.  This  is  one  of  the  quantitative 
restatements  above  referred  to.  All  virtue  is  equally  (i.e. 
with  equal  truth)  virtuous ;  and  hence  it  is  equally  (i.e.  in 
an  equal  degree)  virtuous.  All  vice  is  equally  vicious  (in 
the  same  two  senses). 

Corollaries.  —  (1)  It  follows  that  there  is  no  gradual  im- 
provement in  morals.  There  is  only  the  total  transformation 
from  consummate  vice  to  consummate  virtue.  It  is  true 
that  as  time  goes  on  a  larger  and  larger  proportion  of  the 
vicious  man's  acts  may  be  fitting,  and  hence  merely  indiffer- 
ent ;  and  as  this  happens  the  man  may  be  said  to  be  approach- 
ing virtue.  But  he  is  as  vicious  as  ever  all  the  while.  It  is 
like  the  opening  of  the  newborn  puppy's  eyes.  He  is  blind, 
and  is  gradually  approaching  the  possession  of  sight.  But  he 
is  as  blind  just  before  his  eyes  open  as  at  any  previous  time. 

(2)  It  also  follows  that  the  longer  of  two  happy  lives 
is  not  a  whit  more  desirable  than  the  shorter.  For  the  de- 
sirability of  the  happy  life  consists,  not  in  the  merely  '  ac- 
ceptable,' which  it  may  contain  in  greater  or  less  amount, 
but  in  its  virtuousness,  which  does  not  increase  with  time. 
A  happy  life  would  be  no  happier  if  it  endured  a  thousand 
years ;  just  as  a  musical  note  would  be  no  higher  if  it  were 
similarly  prolonged.  Duration  has  no  more  to  do  with  happi- 
ness than  with  musical  pitch. 

Infinite  Superiority  of  Virtue.  —  In  the  third  place,  virtue 
is  infinitely  more  valuable  than  anything  else  whatsoever. 
This  is  another  translation  from  the  qualitative  to  the  quanti- 
tative. If  the  virtuous  life  possesses  a  value  of  an  essentially 
new  and  higher  type,  then  no  quantity  of  mere  '  acceptables  ' 
can  ever  be  equivalent  to  it.  Hence,  as  compared  with  any 


RIGORISM  169 

merely  acceptable  thing,  the  value  of  virtue  is  infinite,  i.e. 
is  incapable  of  being  increased  by  the  addition  of  any  finite 
value.  The  stoics  were  never  tired  of  setting  this  forth  in 
striking  illustrations.  In  the  happy  life  the  addition  or 
subtraction  of  all  the  gifts  of  fortune  makes  not  so  much 
difference  as  the  addition  or  subtraction  of  a  single  penny 
would  make  to  the  wealth  of  Croesus,  or  as  a  drop  of  water 
more  or  less  would  make  to  the  great  sea. 

Suicide.  —  The  stoic  doctrine  of  suicide  is  an  unimportant 
detail ;  but  it  should  be  noticed  for  the  light  it  throws  upon 
these  paradoxes.  Like  the  Epicureans,  the  stoics  regarded 
suicide  as  sometimes  justifiable.  But  whereas  the  Epicurean 
could  defend  his  position  by  saying  that  when  life  is  no  longer 
worth  living  it  ought  to  be  left,  the  stoic  had  no  such  excuse ; 
for  to  him  the  life  of  the  vicious  man  was  always  absolutely 
wretched  and  that  of  the  virtuous  absolutely  happy,  and 
neither  the  wretchedness  of  the  one  nor  the  happiness  of 
the  other  could  be  increased  or  diminished  by  a  longer  or 
shorter  term  of  life.  He  therefore  has  recourse  to  the  fol- 
lowing argument.  The  fitness  of  conduct  consists  in  the 
choice  of  the  more  acceptable  in  preference  to  the  less.  When 
life  is  filled  with  a  preponderance  of  things  contrary  to  na- 
ture —  such  as  sickness,  poverty,  and  pain  —  the  cessation 
of  life  becomes  more  acceptable  than  its  continuance ;  and 
under  these  circumstances  suicide  is  fitting.  Hence,  as  the 
wise  man  always  does  what  is  fitting,  he  will  in  such  a  case 
unhesitatingly  commit  suicide,  altogether  regardless  of  the 
fact  that  he  is  as  happy  as  can  be ! 

4.  The  Virtuous  Life 

Unity  of  Virtue.  —  More  precisely,  now,  what  is  virtue  ? 
Is  it  an  attribute  of  character,  or  of  conduct?  Of  both. 
There  is  no  good  character  that  does  not  constantly  express 
itself  in  right  conduct ;  and  there  is  no  right  conduct  except 
that  which  arises  from  good  character,  Plato  and  Aris- 


170    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

totle  were  radically  wrong  when  they  imagined  that  reason 
had  a  function  of  its  own  —  pure  thought  —  separate  from, 
and  superior  to,  its  control  of  conduct.  Except  as  theory 
contributes  to  practical  ends,  it  is  a  vicious  frittering  away 
of  life.  The  supposed  distinction  between  wisdom  (as  the 
virtue  of  pure  thought)  and  prudence  is  illusory.  Wisdom 
and  prudence  are  the  same.  Socrates  was  right:  to  know 
is  to  act  accordingly.  All  the  virtues  are  but  various  as- 
pects of  a  single  reality.  Every  right  act  (that  is  to  say, 
every  act  of  a  good  man)  exhibits  every  possible  virtue. 
Wisdom,  temperance,  courage,  and  justice  mutually  imply 
each  other. 

Passions  and  Rational  Feelings.  —  Since  reason,  late  as  is 
its  appearance  in  the  development  of  the  individual,  is  cer- 
tainly a  part  of  man's  nature,  virtue  (or  the  proper  function- 
ing of  reason)  may  well  be  described  as  a  state  of  health ;  and 
vice  is  as  truly  a  state  of  disease.  The  various  forms  which 
this  disease  takes  are  the  passions  (irdOrj),  perturbations  of 
the  soul  by  which  reason  is  blinded  and  paralyzed.  These 
are  many  in  number,  but  may  be  comprised  under  four 
heads :  grief  (Avmj),  passionate  desire  (iTnBv^ia.  —  lust, 
in  the  widest  sense  of  the  term),  fear  (<£o/3os),  and  pleasure 
(flbovrf)  —  by  which  last  term  the  stoic  means,  not  mere 
agreeable  feeling,  but,  as  in  the  case  of  the  other  passions, 
a  state  of  absorption  in  the  feeling,  a  surrender  of  the  rational 
nature.  This  distinction  is  of  great  importance.  The 
stoic  wise  man  is  said  to  be  free  from  passion ;  but  this  does 
not  mean  that  he  is  devoid  of  feeling.  For  feelings  may  be 
perfectly  natural  and  healthy,  both  in  quality  and  in  inten- 
sity; and  in  such  case,  unless  other  considerations  inter- 
fere, reason  dictates  that  we  obey  our  feelings,  for  that  is 
following  nature.  We  should  eat  as  we  have  appetite, 
exercise  as  we  find  it  exhilarating,  and  enjoy  the  beauties 
of  nature  and  art.  Once  more :  if  we  had  no  natural  in- 
clinations toward  or  away  from  things,  there  would  be  noth- 


RIGORISM  171 

ing  for  reason  to  work  upon.  Passion  is  the  subjection  of 
reason  to  the  feelings  which  it  is  its  function  to  control. 
Moreover  there  are  certain  rational  feelings  (eforaOeuu) 
which  are  peculiar  to  the  virtuous  Me.  These  are  com- 
prised under  the  three  heads  of  determination  (/tokens, 
contrasted  with  lust),  caution  (cvAa/foa,  contrasted  with 
fear),  and  joy  (xapa,  contrasted  with  pleasure).  The  sage's 
existence,  far  from  being  an  idle  and  cheerless  one,  is  vigor- 
ous and  delightful. 

Social  Character  of  Virtue :  how  Explained.  —  (1)  There  is 
one  impression  which  one  is  very  apt  to  get  from  a  first  sur- 
vey of  the  stoic  theory  of  virtue,  but  which  is  as  far  from 
truth  as  possible.  That  is,  that  the  stoic  idea  of  the  life 
ordered  by  the  rational  perception  of  harmony  is  a  selfish, 
or,  at  least,  an  individualistic,  ideal  —  like  the  supreme  happi- 
ness of  contemplation,  in  the  systems  of  Plato  and  Aristotle. 
The  stoic  view  is  that  all  good  is  intrinsically  social.  The 
explanation  they  find  partly  in  a  peculiar  characteristic 
of  man's  natural  instincts :  all  of  the  objects  of  natural  affec- 
tion and  dislike  are  social  in  their  scope.  The  impulse  to  ward 
off  a  blow  from  oneself  is  no  more  natural  than  the  impulse 
to  ward  off  a  blow  from  another  man ;  the  impulse  to  recoil 
from  pain  is  no  more  natural  than  the  impulse  to  relieve 
another's  pain ;  the  impulse  to  learn  is  no  more  natural  than 
the  impulse  to  teach;  and  in  each  case  the  latter  impulse 
may  easily  be  far  stronger  than  the  former.  In  fact,  so 
thoroughly  social  a  creature  is  man,  that  the  prospect  of 
utter  loneliness  takes  away  the  attractiveness  from  every 
object  whatsoever.  Man  is  a  member  of  human  society, 
as  assuredly  as  his  own  arm  is  a  member  of  his  body.  And 
so  bound  together  is  he  with  his  fellows,  that  every  acceptable 
or  unacceptable  experience  of  any  one  affects  in  a  like  manner 
every  other  in  some  degree,  however  slight. 

Now  since  this  is  true  of  man's  instinctive  constitution, 
fitness  (or  harmony  with  nature)  means  consistency  with 


172    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

the  interests,  not  only  of  the  individual,  but  of  society  as 
a  whole.  Nay,  since  the  whole  is  more  than  the  part,  fitness 
requires  that  the  interests  of  society  be  paramount.  And 
not  simply  the  existing  generation  must  be  counted  (for 
society  lives  on  from  generation  to  generation),  but  the  re- 
motest posterity  as  well.  It  is  natural  for  man  to  live,  not 
for  himself,  but  for  his  family  and  neighbors,  and  above  all 
for  the  state.  The  stoic  sage  did  not  propose  to  secure  hap- 
piness by  avoiding  annoyances  in  a  selfish  isolation.  The 
cares  of  the  parent  and  the  citizen  are  a  proper  part  of  human 
life.  A  man  can  be  happy  if  cut  off  from  them ;  but  to  live 
in  the  midst  of  them  is  clearly  preferable. 

(2)  But  such  an  explanation  is  only  partial.  For  though 
the  fitting  act  is  in  accordance  with  the  common  interests, 
still,  as  rightly  performed  by  any  one  good  man,  it  is  his  act, 
and  the  virtue  which  it  displays  is  his  virtue.  Why,  then, 
is  it  not  a  private  good?  Here  the  stoic  falls  back  upon  his 
metaphysical  religion  for  the  answer.  All  reason  is  one. 
All  rational  beings,  both  gods  (i.e.  superhuman  personalities) 
and  men,  are  members  of  a  single  universal  organism.  Each 
one,  by  living  in  accordance  with  his  own  nature,  is  put  in 
touch  with  the  universal  harmony  and  enjoys  it  to  the  full  — 
nay,  becomes  a  factor  in  that  harmony.  Every  good  man, 
therefore,  in  each  of  his  acts,  is  directly  benefiting  every 
rational  being  that  is  capable  of  receiving  benefit  —  namely, 
the  virtuous.  And  the  like  is  true  of  vice.  Every  wrong 
act  (i.e.  every  unfitting  act  of  a  vicious  man)  is  an  injury 
to  all  who  are  capable  of  receiving  injury  —  namely,  the 
vicious.  Not  only,  therefore,  through  their  social  instincts, 
but  still  more  through  their  rational  nature,  all  men  are 
bound  together  in  unity. 

Friendship.  —  This  unity,  however,  is  one  which  only 
the  good  actually  experience.  In  them  it  is  called  '  friend- 
ship/ The  good,  and  the  good  alone,  are  friends ;  for  they 
alone  can  confer  real  benefit  upon  each  other.  Friendship 


RIGORISM  173 

is  therefore  said  to  be  a  good ;  not  as  if  it  were  a  good  in 
addition  to  virtue,  but  because  its  goodness  is  one  of  the 
essential  characteristics  of  virtue  itself.  Virtue  is  good,  not 
only  to  its  possessor,  but  to  all  other  good  men. 

The  Equality  of  Benefits.  —  Here  follows  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  of  the  stoic  paradoxes.  To  benefit  can  only 
mean  to  incite  or  restrain  according  to  virtue  (just  as  to 
injure  can  mean  only  to  incite  or  restrain  according  to  vice). 
But  if  this  influence  fell  upon  different  men  unequally, 
that  would  make  it  easier  for  some  men  to  be  good  than 
for  others ;  and  hence  virtue  would  not  be  wholly  voluntary 
—  which  seemed  a  monstrous  conclusion.  Hence  it  was 
laid  down  that  all  benefits  (and  all  injuries)  are  equal.  All 
the  virtuous  are  equal  sharers  hi  one  another's  virtue.  And, 
similarly,  all  the  vicious,  no  matter  how  close  in  their  approxi- 
mation to  virtue,  are  equal  sharers  in  one  another's  vice. 

The  Laws  of  Nature.  —  The  universal  society  of  gods  and 
men  has  its  laws,  obedience  to  which  is  justice,  and  diso- 
bedience to  which  is  injustice.  In  contrast  to  the  varied  and 
changing  statutes  of  men,  these  laws  are  eternal  and  every- 
where in  force.  These  laws  of  nature  are  simply  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  natural  life,  expressed  in  the  form  of  commands. 
They  bid  us  do  what  is  fitting  and  abstain  from  what  is  un- 
fitting. Consequently,  obedience  to  the  law  does  not  con- 
stitute virtue  (for  that  is  merely  fitting  conduct),  though 
disobedience  to  it,  on  the  part  of  a  rational  being,  is  always 
vice.  Virtue  is  the  obedience  to  law,  that  springs  from  the 
rational  perception  of  harmony. 

Thus,  as  the  system  finally  works  out,  stoicism  may  be 
regarded  as  equally  an  ethics  of  virtue  and  an  ethics  of  duty. 
The  notion  of  the  personal  value  of  morality  is  kept  promi- 
nent; but  the  ultimate  standard  is  an  eternal  code,  which 
is  absolutely  authoritative  on  its  own  account.  It  is  interest- 
ing to  observe  that  it  was  this  legal  aspect  of  stoicism  that 
most  appealed  to  the  Roman  world.  This  was  notably  the 


174    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

case  with  the  great  popularizer  of  Greek  philosophy,  Cicero. 
And  in  the  consolidation  of  the  empire,  amid  the  difficulties 
arising  from  the  differences  of  law  in  its  many  provinces, 
the  Roman  jurists  found  the  conception  of  a  universal  law 
of  nature  a  most  useful  means  of  harmonization.  The  law 
of  nature  was  viewed  as  the  rational  norm,  from  which  the 
laws  of  the  particular  states  were  conventional  variations. 
And  thus  there  arose  the  conception  of  a  state  of  nature,  in 
which  men  had  not  yet  formed  particular  states  and  were 
governed  by  the  laws  of  nature  alone  —  a  conception  which, 
as  we  shall  see,  was  of  great  importance  in  the  early  develop- 
ment of  modern  ethics. 

REFERENCES 

CICERO,  De  Finibus  Bonorum  et  Malorum,  Books  III,  IV. 
EPICTETUS,  Discourses. 

DIOGENES  LAERTIUS,  Lives  of  the  Philosophers,  Books  VI,  VII. 
GROTE,  G.,  Plato  and  the  Other  Companions  of  Socrates,  Ch.  XXXVIII. 
ZELLER,  E.,  Socrates  and  the  Socratic  Schools,  Ch.  XIII;  Stoics, 

Epicureans,  and  Sceptics,  Part  II,  Chs.  X-XII. 
CAIRD,  E.,  Evolution  of  Theology  in  the  Greek  Philosophers,  Lectures 

XVIII,  XIX. 

GOMPERZ,  T.,  Greek  Thinkers,  Book  IV,  Ch.  VII. 
ARNOLD,  E.  V.,  Roman  Stoicism,  Ch.  III. 
DAVIDSON,  W.  L.,  The  Stoic  Creed,  Chs.  VII-X. 
HICKS,  R.  D.,  Stoics  and  Epicureans,  Ch.  III. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS 
I.   THE  POINT  OF  DEPARTURE 

The  Omitted  Centuries.  —  If  this  part  of  our  work  pre- 
tended to  be  a  history,  there  are  many  matters  of  which  we 
should  have  to  take  account,  which  for  our  present  purposes 
must  be  passed  over.  From  the  beginning  of  the  Christian 
era  philosophy  was  intensely  religious.  This  was  true  of 
all  the  chief  thought  movements :  the  Jewish- Alexandrian 
philosophy,  neo-PIatonism,  and  the  philosophy  of  the  Greek 
and  Latin  fathers  of  the  Christian  church.  Much  as  might 
be  learned  from  a  study  of  their  ethical  doctrines,  as  well 
as  from  those  of  the  scholasticism  and  mysticism  of  the  mid- 
dle ages,  we  prefer  to  pass  directly  to  the  re-birth  of  the 
science  of  ethics  which  took  place  in  England,  in  the  seven- 
teenth century.  In  the  modern  development  of  the  science, 
and  especially  in  the  controversies  of  the  great  English 
schools,  we  shall  find  ample  material  for  our  instruction. 

The  Inherited  Theory.  —  Modern  ethics,  like  ancient 
ethics,  had  as  its  first  problem  the  determination  of  the  nat- 
ural basis  of  morality.  But  it  differed  from  the  ancient 
science  in  taking  its  rise,  not  from  the  simple  notions  of 
common  sense,  but  from  a  learned  theory  inherited  from 
stoicism.  This  theory  was  that  of  the  existence  of  a  uni- 
versal and  eternal  code  of  laws  of  nature,  under  which  alone 
man  originally  lived,  and  from  which  all  the  peculiarities  of 
civil  laws  are  local  and  transient  variations.  These  laws 
command  men  to  do  what  it  is  fitting  for  them  to  do,  in  view 
of  their  social  and  rational  nature,  and  of  their  consequent 
relations  to  each  other  and  to  God. 

175 


176    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

God  as  Sovereign.  —  In  one  striking  way  this  tradi- 
tional theory  had  departed  from  the  ancient  form.  The 
religious  pantheism  had  been  given  up ;  and  in  its  stead  was 
the  Christian  belief  in  individual  immortality  and  a  personal 
God.  Consequently  the  laws  of  nature  were  conceived  to 
be  his  commands,  and  might  reasonably  be  expected  to  be 
enforced  by  rewards  and  penalties,  especially  in  the  here- 
after. They  were  thus  literally  laws  in  the  sense  of  statutes 
issued  by  an  omnipotent  sovereign.  Some  theologians  (under 
the  influence  of  the  great  English  schoolmen,  Duns  Scotus 
and  William  of  Occam)  even  went  so  far  as  to  declare  that 
it  is  only  because  God  has  commanded  obedience  to  the  laws 
of  nature,  that  they  are  at  all  obligatory  upon  us,  and  that 
'  fitting  '  means  simply  what  is  pleasing  to  him.  He  might 
conceivably,  they  said,  have  commanded  otherwise;  and 
then  what  is  now  right  would  be  wrong,  and  vice  versa. 
But  the  more  orthodox  view  (as  it  had  been  held  by  Thomas 
Aquinas)  was  that  there  is  an  eternal  distinction  between 
fitting  and  unfitting,  and  that  God's  commands  simply  give 
the  force  of  law  to  this  distinction.  He  commands  the  fitting 
because  it  is  fitting.  He  might,  to  be  sure,  have  created  us 
differently,  and  then  different  conduct  would  be  in  accord- 
ance with  our  nature.  But  we  being  such  as  we  are,  the 
law  of  nature  follows  necessarily  from  our  given  constitution ; 
and  even  in  the  absence  of  any  revelation  from  God  we  can 
to  a  considerable  extent  make  out,  from  the  study  of  this 
constitution,  what  our  natural  obligations  are. 

Grotius.  —  The  classic  modern  exposition  of  this  view  is 
contained  in  the  treatise  on  international  law  (De  Jure  Belli 
et  Pads,  1625)  of  Hugo  Grotius.  This  work  is  based  upon 
the  interesting  conception,  that  since  sovereign  states  in  their 
dealings  with  each  other  are  controlled  by  no  man-made 
laws,  they  are  subject  to  the  laws  of  nature  alone.  Thus  they 
furnish  a  vivid  illustration  of  the  relations  between  indi- 
vidual men  in  the  original  state  of  nature. 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS       177 

II.   HOBBES 

The  New  Impulse.  —  The  study  of  the  ancient  ethical 
classics  produced  more  or  less  important  revivals  of  all  the 
ancient  philosophical  schools.  In  the  seventeenth  century 
the  most  important  of  these  was  the  Platonism  that  flourished 
in  Cambridge  University.  But  the  impulse  that  gave  birth 
to  modern  ethics  came  from  a  body  of  original  and  daring 
speculations  that  set  all  tradition  at  naught,  and,  rejecting 
all  previous  moral  science  as  utterly  fallacious,  essayed  to 
build  up  the  true  science  from  its  foundations.  The  publi- 
cation of  these  speculations  in  the  De  Give  (1641)  and  Levia- 
than (1651)  of  Thomas  Hobbes  of  Malmesbury  won  for 
him,  it  is  true,  not  a  single  disciple  of  importance,  but  it 
excited  opposition  and  awakened  thought  as  scarcely  any 
other  event  in  English  literary  history  has  done. 

Political  Attitude.  —  Hobbes,  the  most  hard-headed  and 
opinionated  of  men,  worked  out  his  ethical  theories  during 
the  time  of  the  Puritan  agitation  against  Charles  I.  It 
appeared  to  him  that  such  agitation  was  exceedingly  foolish 
and  threatened  the  very  foundations  of  social  security. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  he  had  no  faith  in  the  Cavalier  dogma 
of  the  divine  right  of  kings.  Accordingly,  his  theories  are 
prompted  by  the  desire  to  prove  the  necessity  of  an  undivided 
sovereign  power,  from  facts  that  would  be  apparent  to  all 
men  of  sense  and  sobriety. 

1.   Fundamental  Principles 

Method.  —  Hobbes  got  his  ideal  of  scientific  method  from 
the  study,  in  middle  age,  of  a  copy  of  Euclid's  Elements; 
which,  however,  he  imperfectly  understood.  He  believed 
that  all  true  science  begins  with  arbitrary  definitions  of  the 
terms  to  be  used,  and  that  its  whole  procedure  consists  in 
drawing  deductions  from  these  definitions.  (The  axioms 
of  Euclid,  he  thought,  could  all  be  proved  from  mere  defini- 


178    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

tions.)  Hobbes's  ethics,  therefore,  is  professedly  a  deduc- 
tive science.1  In  its  actual  mode  of  presentation,  however, 
it  is  not  carried  back  to  the  primary  definitions,  for  these 
belong  to  natural  philosophy,  or  physics,  which  Hobbes 
regards  as  fundamental ;  and  though  Hobbes  believed  that 
natural  philosophy  could  be  developed  to  a  point  where  moral 
philosophy  would  follow  directly  from  it,  he  never  attempted 
to  work  out  the  full  connection.  As  matters  stand,  his 
ethics  is  grounded  on  an  inductive  study  of  human  nature, 
and  especially  of  the  passions,  though  its  procedure  there- 
after is  rigidly  deductive.  Against  the  Platonists  he  main- 
tains that  there  are  no  intuitively  known  truths  from  which 
deductions  can  be  drawn. 

Psychology.  —  Hobbes's  account  of  human  nature  is 
based  on  a  materialistic  psychology.  He  believed  that  the 
only  substances  that  exist  are  material  bodies ;  and  also  (as 
the  mechanical  discoveries  of  Galileo  had  suggested)  that 
all  the  qualities  and  changes  of  matter  are  reducible  to  rest 
and  motion.  (God,  the  first  cause  of  all  things,  no  doubt 
exists ;  but  his  nature  is  utterly  unknowable  to  us,  and  so  it 
would  be  an  idle  use  of  terms  to  call  him  a  substance.)  Con- 
sciousness is  only  a  form  of  motion  in  which  certain  bodies 
may  be  put.  Of  course  that  is  not  what  it  appears  to  be ; 
and  hence  Hobbes  is  led  to  distinguish  between  the  conscious 
process  as  it  appears  (which  he  calls  '  fancy  ')  and  as  it  really 
is.  Sensation,  for  example,  is  really  the  elastic  rebound  of 
the  central  nervous  organ  after  it  has  momentarily  yielded 
to  some  pressure  from  without ;  but  the  '  fancy '  of  sensa- 
tion is  some  particular  color,  taste,  smell,  sound,  or  feeling. 

1  In  reading  his  works,  the  student  must  bear  in  mind  that  whenever  a 
word  or  phrase  has  been  defined  it  must  always  be  understood  exactly  as 
defined  (except,  of  course,  where  there  is  reason  to  think  that  a  real  con- 
fusion exists) ;  for  Hobbes  uses  many  common  terms  in  uncommon  senses. 
For  example,  according  to  him,  independent  states  are  always  at  war  with 
each  other ;  but  the  proposition  is  not  nearly  so  alarming  as  might  be  sup- 
posed. 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS        179 

So  imagination  (or  memory,  which  is  the  same  thing)  really 
is  the  gradually  subsiding  vibration  that  lingers  after  sensa- 
tion ;  while  the  '  fancy  '  is  a  less  vivid  likeness  of  the  '  fancy  ' 
of  sensation.  So  also  endeavor  is  the  faint  beginning  of  a 
voluntary  motion  toward,  or  away  from,  some  object,  being 
hi  the  one  case  desire  and  in  the  other  case  aversion;  but  the 
'  fancy '  of  desire  is  pleasure,  and  the  '  fancy '  of  aversion 
is  displeasure,  or  pain.  To  desire  a  thing  and  to  be  pleased 
with  it  are  thus,  for  Hobbes,  but  two  sides  of  the  same  fact ; 
and  so  also  are  to  be  averse  to  a  thing  and  to  be  displeased 
with  it.  All  the  passions  of  men  are  simply  desire  and  aver- 
sion for  different  sorts  of  objects  and  under  different  sorts 
of  circumstances;  as,  for  example,  hope  is  desire  with  the 
expectation  of  getting  the  object ;  despair  is  desire  without 
any  such  expectation ;  charity  is  desire  that  some  one  else 
shall  obtain  what  he  desires.  Desires  and  aversions  are 
either  instinctive  or  acquired.  The  origin  of  the  latter  is 
that  we  desire  whatever  experience  shows  is  apt  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  pleasant  effects,  and  are  averse  to  what  is  apt  to  be 
followed  by  unpleasant  effects  —  or  even  what  we  are  not 
sure  will  be  harmless. 

Theory  of  Values.  —  We  are  now  prepared  for  Hobbes's 
definition  of  '  good  '  and  '  evil/  "  Whatever  is  the  object 
of  any  man's  appetite  or  desire,  that  is  it  which  he  for  his 
part  calleth  '  good  ' :  and  the  object  of  his  hate  and  aversion, 
'evil '.  .  .  .  For  these  words  .  .  .  are  ever  used  with  rela- 
tion to  the  person  that  useth  them,  there  being  nothing  sim- 
ply and  absolutely  so."  In  other  words,  we  do  not  desire 
things  because  they  are  good ;  but  their  being  good  means  the 
fact  that  we  desire  them.  If  A  desires  a  thing  and  B  does 
not,  the  thing  is  good  for  A  and  not  good  for  B.  If  a  dispute 
arises  between  them  as  to  whether  the  thing  is  good  or  not 
(as,  for  example,  when  a  money  payment  has  to  be  made  in 
case  the  thing  is  good),  the  only  way  to  settle  it  is  to  lay  it 
before  an  arbitrator  —  either  some  one  agreed  upon  by  the 


180    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

disputants  or  some  one  legally  appointed  to  judge  such  cases 
—  whose  decision  is  accepted  as  authoritative.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  thing  itself  upon  which  a  universally  valid 
judgment  of  good  or  evil  can  be  based. 

Hobbes  not  a  Hedonist.  —  We  should  note  very  carefully 
that  Hobbes  is  not,  strictly  speaking,  a  hedonist.  According 
to  him  pleasure  is  not  good,  for  it  is  not  desired;  it  is  the 
'  fancy  '-side  of  the  process  of  desire  itself.  One  might  then 
as  well  say  that  desire  is  good.  Of  course  he  does  hold  that 
pleasures  (in  the  plural,  meaning  pleasant  experiences)  are 
good;  for  their  being  pleasant  means  that  they  are  de- 
sired, which  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  they  are  good.  This 
distinction  is  one  which  Hobbes's  contemporaries,  and 
indeed  most  of  his  successors,  failed  to  appreciate;  and 
accordingly  he  has  been  generally  known  as  an  Epicurean. 
Perhaps  he  was  not  perfectly  clear  about  the  matter  himself. 

In  what  Sense  an  Egoist.  —  If  Hobbes  is  not  a  hedonist, 
there  is  nevertheless  some  reason  to  class  him  with  Epicurus 
as  being  an  egoist.  From  his  definition  of  '  good  ,'  he  at 
once  infers  that  no  man  ever  desires  anything  save  his  own 
good.  This  in  itself  is  insignificant  enough,  for  it  means 
no  more  than  that  every  man  desires  what  he  desires.  But 
Hobbes  puts  his  egoism  in  more  definite  terms.  Pleasures, 
he  says,  are  either  of  sense  (that  is,  arising  directly  from  the 
perception  of  a  present  object)  or  of  the  mind  (that  is,  arising 
from  expectation  of  consequences) ;  and  the  latter  are  all 
reducible  to  glory,  or  the  pleasure  arising  from  the  imagina- 
tion of  one's  own  power  (or  means  of  accomplishing  his 
desires).  Thus  the  pleasure  that  men  often  take  in  giving 
pleasure  to  others,  even  without  hope  of  any  return,  arises 
from  the  imagination  of  the  power  so  employed.  "  There 
can  be  no  greater  argument  to  a  man  of  his  own  power,  than 
to  find  himself  able  not  only  to  accomplish  his  own  desires, 
but  also  to  assist  other  men  in  theirs."  Parental  affection  is 
of  this  sort.  Similarly,  pains  are  either  of  the  body  or  of 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS        181 

the  mind ;  and  the  latter  are  all  reducible  to  dejection  from  the 
imagination  of  weakness.  For  example,  pity,  or  sympathy 
for  another's  misfortune,  arises  from  the  imagination  of  a 
like  misfortune  as  occurring  to  oneself;  and  that  is  why, 
in  so  far  as  men  think  themselves  exempt  from  misfortune, 
they  cease  to  have  pity  for  others. 

The  student  should  note,  however,  that  Hobbes's  theory 
does  not  imply  that  we  are  charitable  and  sympathetic 
only  for  the  sake  of  some  future  good  to  ourselves,  or  in  order 
to  avoid  some  future  evil.  The  father  does  not  care  for  his 
children  in  order  that  he  may  have  the  sense  of  power ;  but 
he  desires  to  do  so  because  the  thought  of  caring  for  them 
suggests  to  him  the  sense  of  power.  The  good  Samaritan 
does  not  pity  the  wounded  traveler  in  order  to  ward  off  a 
similar  evil  from  himself ;  but  he  pities  him  because  the  sight 
of  his  distress  suggests  to  him  the  thought  of  a  similar  evil 
to  himself.  The  relation  is  one  of  cause  and  effect,  not  of 
means  and  end.  Thus,  if  egoism  is  defined  as  the  doctrine 
that  men  desire  the  good  (and  are  averse  to  the  evil)  of  others, 
only  for  the  sake  of  securing  some  further  good  (or  of  avoid- 
ing some  further  evil)  to  themselves,  Hobbes  is  not  an  egoist.1 
He  does,  however,  believe  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  vast 
majority  of  mankind  are  exceedingly  selfish. 

The  Laws  of  Nature.  —  Such  being  Hobbes's  theory  of 
good  and  evil,  his  account  of  moral  laws,  or  laws  of  nature, 
need  not  surprise  us.  They  are  general  rules,  discovered 
by  reason,  for  self-preservation.  They  direct  one  not  to  do 
what  endangers  his  life,  and  not  to  omit  what  best  preserves 
it.  Thus,  since  intemperance  leads  to  sickness  and  death, 
it  is  a  moral  law  to  be  temperate;  and,  similarly,  it  is  a  moral 

1  Hobbes  defines  'cruelty'  as  "contempt,  or  little  sense,  of  the  calamity  of 
others,"  not  as  pleasure  in  it.  And  he  adds:  "For  that  any  man  should 
take  pleasure  in  other  men's  great  harm,  without  other  end  of  his  own,  I 
do  not  conceive  it  possible."  But  the  pleasure  which  we  take  in  small 
mishaps  to  others  (at  which  we  laugh),  and  the  grief  which  we  feel  at  their 
greater  misfortunes,  are  indeed  without  ulterior  ends  of  our  own. 


182    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

law  to  be  brave,  i.e.  to  face  dangers  unhesitatingly  when  they 
cannot  without  greater  danger  be  avoided.  Every  man  is 
instinctively  averse  to  death,  as  the  greatest  of  evils;  and 
though  sometimes  other  evils  (such  as  infamy)  appear  to 
be  still  greater,  so  that  men  choose  death  in  preference,  yet, 
as  a  general  rule,  the  fear  of  death  is  the  strongest  of  all 
passions.  Hence,  breaches  of  the  moral  law  may  generally 
be  regarded  as  due  to  ignorance. 

The  laws  of  nature  in  which  Hobbes  is  especially  inter- 
ested are  those  which  relate  to  the  maintenance  of  social 
security.  For  a  proper  understanding  of  his  ethics  some 
knowledge  of  his  theory  of  society  is  therefore  necessary. 

2.  The  State  of  Nature 

Society  is  Artificial.  —  Here  we  are  at  once  startled  by  a 
proposition  which  Hobbes  declared  to  be  demonstrable  from 
the  preceding  account  of  human  desires  and  aversions  — 
namely,  that  man  is  not  naturally  a  social  animal,  or  is  not 
naturally  adapted  to  social  life.  He  thus  demolishes  at  one 
stroke  the  whole  basis  of  the  orthodox  theory  of  the  laws  of 
nature.  Let  us  see  how  he  proves  his  case. 

The  Persistence  of  Desire.  —  Since  pleasure  is  but  one 
side  of  the  process  of  desire,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  the 
"  repose  of  a  mind  satisfied."  To  enjoy  is  to  desire  to  con- 
tinue to  possess.  Human  happiness,  at  any  rate  in  this 
world,  is  a  progress  of  desire  from  one  object  to  another; 
each  end  attained  being  only  a  stepping  stone  to  some  further 
end.  There  is  no  summum  bonum  in  the  possession  of  which 
desire  can  rest.  Desire,  like  sensation  and  imagination, 
ceases  only  with  life  itself.  Hence  all  men  seek  not  only  to 
obtain,  but  also  to  secure  to  themselves,  the  means  of  happi- 
ness. For  the  most  part  the  means  of  happiness  are  limited. 
One  man's  possession  means  another's  deprivation.  Hence, 
human  power  is  relative;  that  is  to  say,  to  be  strong  means 
to  be  stronger  than  one's  competitors.  Accordingly,  there 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN   ETHICS        183 

is  in  all  men  "  a  perpetual  and  restless  desire  of  power  after 
power  " ;  not  for  the  sake  of  more  intense  pleasures,  or 
because  they  would  not  be  content  with  a  moderate  power ; 
but  because  more  power  is  always  necessary  to  protect 
what  they  already  have  and  others  already  covet.1 

The  Causes  of  Quarrel.  —  Now,  as  we  see  men  about  us, 
their  powers  are  very  unequal.  But  this  inequality  is  due 
to  civil  institutions.  Naturally  (i.e.  before  the  establish- 
ment of  states)  all  men  are  practically  equal ;  for  the  strong- 
est cannot  save  himself  from  sudden  death  at  the  hands  of 
the  weakest,  and  the  intellectual  differences  between  them 
aj*e  even  less  than  the  physical.  Hence,  where  there  is  no 
fear  of  a  supreme  power,  there  must  be  unrestrained  competi- 
tion, and  from  this  constant  quarrels  must  arise ;  for  there 
is  no  way  to  secure  possession  of  goods  like  killing  or  driving 
off  the  competitor.  Even  though  a  man  is  not  naturally 
contentious,  fear  will  make  him  strike  when  opportunity 
offers,  in  order  to  forestall  an  ambitious  neighbor.  Add  to 
this  the  fact  that  man's  natural  love  of  glory  is  enough  to  make 
him  fight  in  order  to  secure  respect  from  others.  For  the 
sense  of  one's  own  power  is  chiefly  fed  by  the  acknowledg- 
ments of  it  by  others ;  and  hence  every  man  wishes  that 
others  should  value  his  powers  (of  whatever  kind)  as  highly 
as  he  himself  does. 

Universal  War.  —  Greed,  fear,  and  pride  —  these  three 
passions  are  enough  to  keep  the  natural  man  in  constant 
strife.  Hence  the  state  of  nature  is  not  society,  but  a  war 
of  every  man  with  every  man.  Not  that  fighting  must  be 
always  going  on ;  for  war  means  not  simply  battle  but  insecurity 
from  attack;  just  as  peace  means  security. 

If  it  be  objected  that  security  is  to  be  found  in  the  love 
which  all  men  naturally  bear  one  another,  Hobbes  denies 
that  there  is  any  such  universal  love.  We  love  some  men, 
hate  some  others,  and  are  indifferent  to  the  rest.  Those  who 

1  As  in  the  case  of  a  state  which  '  rectifies '  its  boundaries. 


184    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

love  each  other  may  join  together  for  protection ;  but,  aside 
from  the  fact  that  love  is  perishable,  their  numbers  must 
be  too  small  to  give  real  security.  The  hope  of  booty  may 
always  raise  a  temporarily  greater  force  against  them.  If 
it  be  said  that  the  fear  of  divine  punishment  may  restrain 
men  from  mutual  hurt,  Hobbes  admits  that  it  has  such  a 
tendency,  but  denies  that  the  tendency  is  strong  enough  to 
produce  security;  for  the  fear  of  distant  evils  is  of  small 
effect. 

The  State  of  Nature  not  Necessarily  an  Historical  Fact.  — 
This  conception  of  the  state  of  nature  is,  of  course,  a  logical 
construct,  deduced  from  a  description  of  human  passions, 
by  considering  to  what  they  would  lead  if  not  kept  in  re- 
straint by  the  civil  power.  In  other  words,  it  is  an  abstrac- 
tion. Hobbes  is  not  committed  to  the  view  that  such  a 
state  ever  existed  in  the  world.  In  fact,  if  the  terms  be 
taken  strictly  enough,  he  does  not  believe  that  there  ever 
did.  For  the  mated  pair  are  in  general  held  together  by 
love;  and  the  child  is  necessarily  subject  to  the  authority 
of  the  father  or  mother,  on  whom  he  depends  for  his  suste- 
nance. Within  the  limits  of  the  family,  therefore,  the  state 
of  nature  is  impossible.  Even  allowing  for  this  exception, 
Hobbes  does  not  believe  that  the  state  of  nature  was  ever 
universal  among  mankind;  but  he  thinks  that  the  life  of 
many  savages  illustrates  it  very  well.  And  if  that  be  not 
enough,  he  points  to  the  attitude  of  independent  states 
toward  each  other,  even  in  time  of  so-called  peace  —  "  in 
continual  jealousies,  and  in  the  state  and  posture  of  gladia- 
tors ;  having  their  weapons  pointing  and  their  eyes  fixed  on 
one  another  .  .  .  which  is  a  posture  of  war  " ;  though  by 
preserving  peace  within  their  borders  they  maintain  the 
prosperity  of  their  subjects.  Nay,  even  within  the  protec- 
tion of  the  law,  every  man  shows,  by  the  ordinary  care  which 
he  takes  to  protect  his  person  and  property,  what  the  funda- 
mental tendencies  of  human  nature  are. 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS        185 

Misery  of  the  State  of  Nature.  —  That  man  is  by  nature 
unfit  for  society,  does  not  mean  that  he  has  not  every  reason 
to  desire  it.  Indeed,  he  has.  The  state  of  nature  being  one 
of  utter  insecurity,  there  is  in  it  no  place  for  industry  or 
commerce,  for  history,  science,  or  art ;  and  the  life  of  man  is 
"  solitary,  poor,  nasty,  brutish,  and  short."  There  is  no 
established  authority,  no  law,  no  justice  or  injustice,  no 
property  rights.  Man's  natural  need  of  society  is  great 
enough.  The  question  is,  how  is  society  possible  for  such  a 
creature? 

3.   The  Conditions  of  Peace 

The  First  Law  of  Nature.  —  The  rules  which  reason  shows 
must  be  followed  for  the  establishment  of  peace  are  the  most 
important  of  the  laws  of  nature.  The  first  and  fundamental 
rule  is  to  seek  peace,  whenever  there  is  hope  of  obtaining  it.  Of 
course,  when  peace  cannot  be  had,  a  man  has  no  motive  not 
to  secure  himself  by  any  other  means  which  are  in  his  power ; 
which  Hobbes  calls  the  right  of  nature.  In  the  war  of  every 
man  against  every  man,  each  is  governed  by  his  own  reason 
alone ;  and  since  anything  that  he  can  use  may  help  in  the 
struggle,  he  has  a  natural  right  to  all  things  —  even  to  an- 
other's life. 

The  Limitation  of  Rights.  —  The  establishment  of  peace 
involves  a  general  surrender  of  this  unlimited  liberty. 
Hence,  where  peace  requires  it,  each  man  must  be  content 
with  so  much  liberty  toward  other  men  as  he  is  willing  that 
others  shall  use  toward  him ;  which  is  the  second  law  of 
nature.  In  place  of  the  natural  right  of  all  men  to  all  things, 
there  thus  arise  exclusive  rights  to  person  and  property  — 
rights  hi  the  proper  sense  of  the  term. 

Here  a  new  problem  emerges,  which  is  of  prime  importance 
in  the  sequel.  A  right  of  nature  (like  an  exclusive  right)  can 
be  surrendered  only  by  expressing  one's  intention  not  to 
continue  to  exercise  it.  How,  then,  can  the  surrender  be 


186    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

made  effectual?  What  can  keep  a  man  from  changing  his 
intention  and  reasserting  his  right?  Only  the  fear  of  some 
inevitable  evil  consequence.  Hence  if  peace  is  to  be  estab- 
lished, a  power  must  be  created  which  is  capable  of  inspiring 
such  fear. 

Inalienable  Rights.  —  The  surrender  of  a  right  is  a  volun- 
tary act;  and  hence  its  object  must  be  some  good  to  the 
agent.  Rights,  therefore,  for  the  loss  of  which  no  compensa- 
tion can  be  made,  cannot  be  surrendered.  Thus  the  right 
of  self-protection  is  inalienable,  for  self-protection  is  the 
ultimate  purpose  for  which  all  rights  are  surrendered ;  and 
so  also  is  the  right  not  to  accuse  oneself  or  any  one,  "  by 
whose  condemnation  a  man  falls  into  misery,"  of  crime. 

The  Performance  of  Contracts.  —  The  third  law  of  nature 
is  that  which  is  the  basis  of  the  distinction  between  justice 
and  injustice.  It  is  that  men  carry  out  their  contracts; 
that  is  to  say,  deliver  at  the  appointed  time  any  goods  to 
which,  for  a  consideration,  they  have  given  another  the 
right.  That  this  is  necessary  to  peace,  and  so  truly  a  law 
of  nature,  is  evident  from  the  fact  that  if  contracts  were  not 
generally  fulfilled,  they  would  not  be  made ;  and  hence  men 
would  be  constantly  led  into  violence  in  order  to  supply  their 
needs.  Not  to  perform  contracts  is  unjust;  all  other  acts 
or  omissions  are  just.  (Why  disobedience  to  law  is  unjust 
appears  in  the  sequel.)  Here  again  it  is  to  be  observed  that 
in  the  state  of  nature,  where  there  can  be  no  assurance  that 
a  man  will  do  as  he  has  contracted,  no  effective  contract 
can  be  made  —  unless  both  parties  act  together  under  each 
other's  eyes.  For  the  one  who  should  act  first  would  be 
simply  subjecting  himself  to  the  other's  caprice.  A  power 
that  can  compel  the  performance  of  contracts  is  therefore 
necessary  before  there  can  be  justice  or  injustice. 

The  Universal  Formula.  —  The  remaining  laws  of  nature 
—  Hobbes  enumerates  nineteen  —  may  be  passed  over  here. 
They  call  for  gratitude,  mercy,  modesty,  impartiality  —  in 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS        187 

short  the  type  of  conduct  which  makes  it  practicable  for 
men  to  live  together  in  society.  All,  as  Hobbes  says,  may 
be  comprehended  in  the  single  formula :  "Do  not  that  to 
another  which  thou  wouldst  not  have  done  to  thyself." 

4.   The  Function  of  the  State 

The  Laws  of  Nature  Eternal.  —  There  are  two  important 
comments  which  Hobbes  makes  upon  the  laws  of  nature 
as  thus  set  forth.  The  first  is  that  they  are  eternal  and 
unalterable.  For  they  are  deduced  from  perfectly  general 
characteristics  of  human  nature.  So  long  as  men  exist, 
they  cannot  be  secure  of  life  and  limb  except  where  peace 
prevails;  and  the  laws  of  nature  which  we  have  discussed 
are  the  necessary  conditions  of  peace. 

But  Not  Universally  Applicable.  —  The  second  comment 
is  that  a  good  part  of  moral  conduct  is  practicable  only  where 
one  has  good  reason  to  expect  similar  conduct  from  others, 
i.e.  in  a  state  of  peace.  "  Force  and  fraud  are  in  war  the 
cardinal  virtues."  To  be  alone  in  keeping  faith  is  mere 
self-destruction,  and  hence  is  contrary  to  the  end  of  all  moral- 
ity, which  is  self-preservation.  In  the  state  of  nature, 
therefore,  all  that  the  laws  of  nature  unconditionally  dictate 
is  a  willingness  to  follow  them  whenever  circumstances  seem 
to  make  it  practicable.  The  first  law  states  this  explicitly : 
Seek  peace,  whenever  there  is  hope  of  obtaining  it;  and  all  the 
succeeding  laws  are  dependent  upon  this.  Nevertheless, 
certain  of  the  laws  are  always  practicable  —  for  example, 
the  law  of  mercy  (that  revenge  should  be  indulged  in  only 
for  the  sake  of  future  security).  This  is  true,  of  course, 
of  the  precepts  of  individual  life,  such  as  Be  temperate,  and 
Be  brave.  But  these  are  not  sufficient  to  make  life  secure. 

The  Civil  Power.  —  The  question  therefore  arises  in  an 
acute  form:  How  can  morality  be  made  generally  practi- 
cable? Hobbes  answers:  Only  by  the  establishment  of 
civil  government.  A  power  must  be  set  up  which  is  able  to 


188    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

punish  all  serious  breaches  of  the  law  of  nature  within  its 
domain,  whether  committed  by  one  man  or  by  any  combina- 
tion of  men.  Such  a  power  can  be  created  only  by  a  general 
submission  of  all  the  men  to  one  man  or  assembly  of  men ; 
that  is  to  say,  by  an  express  or  implied  contract  of  every 
man  with  every  other,  not  to  resist  the  will 1  of  a  certain  man 
or  assembly  of  men,  which  thus  becomes  possessed  of  the 
joint  power  of  them  all.  This  man  or  assembly  is  the  sov- 
ereign; those  submitting  are  the  subjects.  If  the  sovereign 
be  one  man,  he  is  called  a  monarch;  if  it  be  an  assembly,  it 
may  be  aristocratic  or  democratic,  i.e.  contain  either  some  or 
all  of  the  subjects.  In  any  case  the  powers  and  functions 
of  the  sovereign  are  the  same :  to  enact  laws,  appoint  sub- 
ordinates, judge  controversies,  punish  crime,  reward  public 
service,  and  carry  on  war.  These  powers  are  theoretically 
inseparable;  that  is  to  say,  in  so  far  as  they  are  separated 
the  state  is  not  a  true  state ;  and  to  that  extent  insecurity, 
or  civil  war,  prevails. 

Relation  between  the  Civil  Laws  and  the  Laws  of  Nature. 
—  The  object  of  the  state  is  to  make  morality  practicable. 
Hence  the  moral  laws  are  an  essential  part  of  the  civil  laws 
of  every  true  state.  If  the  sovereign  issues  a  command 
that  contradicts  the  moral  law,  it  strikes  at  public  security, 
and  in  so  far  makes  the  state  not  a  state,  and  thus  assails 
its  own  supremacy.  To  a  certain  extent  the  moral  law  leaves 
matters  open  which  the  civil  law  must  determine  in  one  way 
or  another.  Thus  if  morality  is  to  be  established,  the  dis- 
tinction between  mine  and  thine  must  be  enforced.  But 
how  it  shall  be  determined  what  is  mine  and  what  is  thine, 
the  sovereign  must  declare.  So  also  indiscriminate  homicide 
can  never  be  permitted;  but  just  what  constitutes  unjusti- 
fiable homicide  is  for  the  sovereign  to  say. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  moral  law  enjoins  obedience  to 

1  Except,  of  course,  for  direct  self-preservation  or  its  equivalent,  the 
natural  right  to  which  is  inalienable. 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS        189 

the  civil  laws,  because  it  is  only  by  such  obedience  that 
the  state  can  be  preserved  and  peace  maintained.  Thus 
the  moral  law  and  the  civil  law  contain  each  other. 

III.   CUD  WORTH 

Misinterpretation  of  Hobbes.  —  Such,  in  outline,  is  the 
system  of  ethical  speculation  which  so  profoundly  shocked 
the  honest  folk  of  England.  Calmly  considered  and  clearly 
understood,  there  is  nothing  very  extraordinary  in  its  teach- 
ings. But  it  was  not  calmly  considered,  and  it  was  scarcely 
understood  at  all.  The  Cambridge  Platonists  were  espe- 
cially indignant  at  what  they  considered  to  be  an  attack  upon 
the  eternal  validity  of  moral  laws  (which  Hobbes  sturdily 
maintained),  making  them  dependent  upon  the  arbitrary 
will  of  the  sovereign  —  not  observing  that  for  Hobbes  a 
sovereign  is  a  sovereign  only  in  so  far  as  it  maintains  the 
moral  laws. 

Moral  Distinctions  Independent  of  the  Will.  —  Ralph 
Cudworth's  Treatise  concerning  Eternal  and  Immutable 
Morality  was  not  published  until  1731,  when  the  Hobbian 
controversy  had  long  given  way  to  other  issues,  and  its  direct 
influence  was  therefore  very  slight.  But  it  contains  in  brief 
compass  (in  its  first  two  chapters)  the  best  statement  of  the 
Platonist  position  which  we  possess.  No  real  distinctions 
(says  Cudworth)  can  depend  upon  mere  will,  whether  it  be 
man's  will  or  God's.  White  things  can  be  made  black,  and 
round  things  can  be  made  triangular;  but  the  difference 
between  white  and  black,  round  and  triangular,  belongs  to 
the  eternal  '  nature  of  things/  which  God  himself  cannot 
alter.  So  long  as  a  thing  is  round  it  is  round  and  not  trian- 
gular, and  it  has  all  the  properties  that  distinguish  round 
things  from  triangular  things.  Merely  willing  it  to  be  trian- 
gular affects  it  not  at  all.  So  it  is  with  the  distinction  be- 
tween moral  good  and  evil.  That,  too,  is  eternal.  Mere 
will  cannot  make  anything  right  or  wrong  —  cannot,  that  is, 


190    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

impose  or  remove  a  moral  obligation.  To  be  sure,  when  a 
legitimate  ruler  issues  a  command  (which  does  not  exceed 
his  authority),  his  subjects  ought  to  obey  him;  and  thus 
certain  acts  which  were  formerly  permissible  to  them  be- 
come wrong.  But  that  is  only  because,  prior  to  this  com- 
mand, it  was  already  obligatory  upon  the  subjects  to  render 
him  a  certain  measure  of  obedience.  The  authority  of 
statutes  thus  rests  upon  the  absolute  authority  of  the  eternal 
laws  of  natural  justice.  How  effective  this  is  as  a  reply  to 
Hobbes  the  reader  can  easily  estimate. 

IV.   CUMBERLAND 

Intellectual  Character.  —  It  remains  for  us  to  speak  of  the 
great  Bishop  of  Peterborough,  Richard  Cumberland.  While 
Cumberland's  fame  is  far  inferior  to  Hobbes's,  his  positive 
influence  upon  the  future  of  English  ethics  was  probably 
much  more  extensive.  Hobbes,  with  all  his  genius,  was  an 
exceedingly  narrow-minded  man.  One  clear  view  of  a  sub- 
ject satisfied  him.  He  never  tried  to  see  it  from  a  second 
angle.  As  we  read  his  pages  we  find  much  that  is  true, 
much  that  is  instructive,  but  little  that  is  satisfactory. 
Cumberland  was  of  a  very  different  type  —  preeminently 
broad-minded,  tireless  in  his  endeavor  to  see  his  subject 
from  every  point  of  view.  The  consequence  is  that  though 
much  that  he  wrote  is  weak,  his  work  as  a  whole  is  of  great 
importance. 

Problems.  —  Cumberland  wrote  his  treatise  (De  Legibus 
Naturae,  1672)  in  reply  to  Hobbes ;  but,  as  he  himself  felt, 
its  main  importance  is  not  critical  but  constructive.  He 
states  and  discusses  four  main  problems  of  ethics  :  (1)  What 
is  the  nature  of  good  and  evil  in  general?  (2)  What  is  the 
nature  of  moral  good  and  evil  ?  or,  as  it  is  otherwise  put,  What 
is  the  content  of  the  laws  of  nature  ?  (3)  What  is  the  psycho- 
logical origin  of  the  laws  of  nature  ?  (4)  What  is  the  nature  of 
man,  and  for  what  manner  of  life  (social  or  solitary)  is  he 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS        191 

accordingly  best  fitted?  But  before  taking  these  questions 
up  there  is  a  preliminary  point  to  be  made  clear. 

The  Laws  of  Nature  as  Conditions  of  Happiness.  —  It 
will  be  recalled  that  according  to  Hobbes  the  laws  of  nature 
are  not  laws  until  they  have  entered  into  the  civil  laws  of 
some  state.  They  are  merely  the  logically  demonstrable 
conditions  for  the  attainment  of  a  certain  universally  de- 
sired end  —  self-preservation.  It  is  one  of  Cumberland's 
primary  objects  to  show  that  even  prior  to  the  establishment 
of  states  the  laws  of  nature  were  indeed  laws ;  that  is  to  say, 
laws  of  God,  clearly  promulgated  by  him,  and  enforced  by 
promises  of  reward  and  threats  of  punishment. 

But  the  difference  between  the  two  men  is  not  fairly  put 
in  this  way.  Cumberland  is,  to  all  intents,  what  was  later 
called  a  deist;  in  fact  his  ethical  treatise  is  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal sources  of  English  deism.  He  thinks  of  God  as  the 
intelligent  first  cause  of  all  things.  Aside  from  the  interfer- 
ence of  man's  free  will,  all  that  goes  on  in  the  universe, 
whether  physical  or  mental,  takes  place  according  to  uni- 
versal uniformities  established  by  God  at  the  creation;  so 
that  everything  that  happens  is  a  necessary  consequence  of 
the  original  arrangement  which  he,  in  his  omniscience,  gave 
to  things  then.1  The  consequence  is  that  his  proof  that 
God  has  promulgated  the  laws  of  nature  amounts  only  to 
showing  that  these  laws  are  so  obvious  as  to  arise  inevitably 
in  men's  minds,  without  the  necessity  of  voluntary  atten- 
tion. The  proof  that  God  has  annexed  to  these  laws  both 


1  Cumberland  does  not,  indeed,  deny  the  possibility  of  miracles  and  special 
providences.  As  an  orthodox  churchman,  he  devoutly  believes  hi  both. 
But  they  play  no  essential  part  in  the  scheme  of  things,  as  he  views  it,  and 
he  generally  ignores  them.  He  believes,  too,  in  a  future  judgment,  by  which 
the  good  shall  be  consigned  to  heaven,  and  the  wicked  to  hell.  But  this 
also  is  a  consideration  which  he  is  content  for  the  most  part  to  ignore. 
Moreover,  he  wishes  his  work  to  be  scientific;  he  wishes  it  to  make  a  uni- 
versal appeal  to  thinking  men,  independently  of  all  religious  dogma ;  and 
again  this  helps  to  make  his  position  essentially  that  of  a  deist. 


192    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

promises  and  threats  consists  only  in  showing  that  obedience 
to  them  is  obviously  the  most  important  means  of  securing 
happiness.  Practically  speaking,  one  may  drop  God,  who 
has  done  his  part,  out  of  the  argument  altogether,  and  con- 
sider the  laws  of  nature  as  the  obvious  and  essential  conditions 
of  happiness.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Cumberland,  instead 
of  stating  the  laws  in  the  form :  Do  thus  and  so,  or  I,  the  Lord 
God,  will  diminish  thy  happiness,  prefers  the  simple  declara- 
tive form :  To  do  thus  and  so  constitutes  the  greatest  happiness 
of  the  agent.  The  real  difference,  then,  between  him  and 
Hobbes  is  not  that  he  includes  in  his  scheme  a  divine  sover- 
eign whom  Hobbes  omits,  but  that  he  views  morality  in  its 
relation  to  happiness,  whereas  Hobbes  views  it  in  relation  to 
the  preservation  of  life  as  such. 

(1)  Energistic  Theory  of  Values.  —  In  his  general  theory 
of  values  Cumberland  follows  the  Aristotelian  tradition. 
Happiness  is,  for  him,  a  mode  of  life,  the  full  and  free  activity 
of  the  healthy  organism.  Things  in  general  are  good,  ac- 
cording as  they  preserve  or  enlarge  the  powers  of  the  mind  or 
body,  and  thus  contribute  to  make  the  happy  life  possible. 

But  Cumberland  regards  the  difference  between  this  view 
and  hedonism  as  unimportant.  Since  pleasure  is  an  invari- 
able accompaniment  of  the  happy  life,  he  sees  no  objection 
to  identifying  happiness  with  pleasure  rather  than  with  the 
life  itself.  He  does,  however,  object  decidedly  to  Hobbes's 
theory,  that  the  good  is  for  any  man  that  which  he  desires. 
We  desire,  he  says,  what  we  conceive  to  be  good;  and  in  this 
we  may  be,  and  often  are,  mistaken.  Whether  a  thing  is 
good  or  evil  to  a  man  is  not  determined  by  its  relation  to  his 
passing  inclinations,  but  by  its  actual  influence  upon  his 
happiness.  And  while  some  things  are  good  for  one  man,  bad 
for  another,  there  are  also  things  which  are  good  for  whole 
multitudes  at  once  —  such  as  peace  —  and  so  may  properly 
be  called  common  goods.  Peace  does  not  cease  to  be  a  com- 
mon good  because  some  fool  desires  to  disturb  it. 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS        193 

(2)  All     Morality   reduced    to    Benevolence.  —  Cumber- 
land believes  that  all  the  laws  of  nature  are  contained  in  one 
fundamental  law :   Be  as  benevolent  as  possible  to  all  rational 
beings:  or,  as  he  states  it  (with  its  sanction) :  "  The  greatest 
benevolence  of  every  rational  agent  toward  all  the  rest  con- 
stitutes the  happiest  state  of  each  and  all  of  the  benevolent, 
so  far  as  it  is  in  their  own  power ;   and  it  is  necessarily  req- 
uisite  to   the   happiest  state  which  they  can  attain;  and 
therefore :   The  common  good  is  the  supreme  law."  * 

Property  Rights.  —  That  all  morality  is  reducible  to  be- 
nevolence Cumberland  regards  as  fairly  evident,  except  hi  the 
case  of  justice.  The  absoluteness  of  property  rights  often 
seems  to  result  in  much  misery  —  as  when  a  single  wealthy 
reprobate  wastes  resources  that  might  support  many  poor 
and  honest  folk  in  comfort.  Cumberland's  treatment  of 
this  point  left  a  deep  impress  upon  English  thought.  Some 
goods,  he  said,  to  be  enjoyed  must  be  divided ;  and,  that  they 
may  be  fully  enjoyed,  their  possession  must  be  secure. 
Grant  that  the  present  division  of  property  is  not  ideal.  It 
is  very  tolerable,  since  under  it  we  do  enjoy  the  happiness 
which  we  actually  enjoy.  And  when  the  dangers  of  anarchy, 
from  the  unsettling  of  established  rights,  are  considered,  no 
man  or  assembly  of  men  is  competent  to  devise  a  new  divi- 
sion so  much  better  than  the  present,  as  to  warrant  us  in 
risking  the  attempt  to  change.2  Hence,  benevolence  dictates 
that  we  leave  to  every  man  his  own. 

(3)  The  Laws  of   Nature  learned    from    Experience.  — 
The  question  as  to  the  origin  of  the  laws  of  nature  is  a  par- 
ticular form  of  the  question  which  the  philosopher  Locke 
later  asked  with  regard  to  human  ideas  in  general ;  and  it  is 
answered  in  much  the  same  fashion.     We  have  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  any  of  our  ideas  or  principles  are  innate.     We 
can  account  for  the  origin  of  all  of  them  in  experience.     Cum- 
berland is,  in  fact,  a  much  more  thorough-going  empiricist 

i  De  Legibus  Naturae,  Ch.  I,  Sect.  IV.  *  Op.  tit.,  Ch.  VII,  Sect.  IX. 

o 


194    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

than  Locke.  For  while  Locke  thinks  that  all  our  ideas  are 
derived  from  experience,  he  further  thinks  that,  when  once 
the  ideas  have  been  acquired,  we  can  compare  them  together 
in  the  mind,  and  thus  obtain  an  intuitive  knowledge  of  cer- 
tain fundamental  truths.  Cumberland,  on  the  contrary, 
believes  that  the  fundamental  truths,  too,  are  learned  from 
experience.  And  the  type  of  certain  knowledge  is  for  him, 
not  the  mathematical  axioms  that  men  generally  regard  as 
self-evident  independently  of  experience,  but  such  proposi- 
tions as  All  men  are  mortal,  which  are  obviously  learned  from 
experience. 

How  they  are  Learned.  —  It  is  incumbent  upon  him,  there- 
fore, to  show  (a)  how  the  ideas  contained  in  the  law  of  uni- 
versal benevolence,  and  especially  the  notion  of  a  common 
good,  inevitably  arise  in  the  mind;  and  (6)  how  the  con- 
nection between  them,  which  the  proposition  asserts,  is 
impressed  upon  the  mind  with  such  evidence,  that  no  sane 
and  unprejudiced  man  can  doubt  it. 

(a)  Origin  of  the  Constituent  Ideas.  —  The  notion  of  good 
we  all  derive  from  the  food,  clothing,  and  shelter,  and  the 
mutual  aid,  by  which  our  lives  are  supported  and  cheered. 
The  human  affection  by  which  aid  is  prompted  we  thus 
conceive  as  a  good  will,  or  benevolence.  It  is  obvious  that 
through  counsel  as  well  as  by  physical  aid  our  benevolence 
may  help  great  numbers  of  men.  From  the  close  resemblance 
between  us  we  see  that  the  helper  can  be  repaid,  and  that  by 
mutual  aid  men  may  be  supplied  with  many  things ;  whereas, 
if  hostility  took  its  place,  the  utmost  want  and  imminent 
danger  of  death  would  ensue.  Hence  the  notion  of  a  common 
good;  which,  by  reason  of  our  likeness  to  each  other,  may 
easily  embrace  all  whom  we  may  ever  know. 

(6)  Their  Necessary  Connection.  —  We  see  that  the  in- 
dividual can  have  no  greater  defense  and  no  greater  positive 
source  of  happiness  than  the  sincere  benevolence  of  all  to- 
ward all  —  in  the  general  effects  of  which  he  shares  — 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS        195 

together  with  the  more  particular  benevolence,  or  friend- 
ship, of  some  few  chosen  individuals  toward  himself.  And 
we  see  in  ourselves,  as  well  as  in  the  behavior  of  others, 
that  there  is  no  way  to  encourage  either  general  benevolence 
or  friendship  to  be  compared  with  the  manifestation  of  the 
same  affection  in  one's  own  acts.  (Cumberland  adds  that 
if  it  is  the  favor  of  the  first  cause  that  is  to  be  won,  we  surely 
cannot  please  him  better  than  by  our  good  will  toward  him 
and  toward  his  human  children.)  Hence  the  obvious  proof 
of  the  proposition  to  be  proved. 

Cumberland  regards  these  simple  considerations  as  in 
themselves  fairly  convincing.  But  he  supplements  them  by 
another  line  of  thought,  in  which  account  is  taken,  not  of 
the  consequences  of  benevolence,  but  of  the  intrinsic  charac- 
ter of  the  benevolent  life. 

(4)  The  Social  Nature  of  Man.  —  Is  man  by  nature  fitted 
for  society?  Hobbes  pointed  out  certain  characteristics 
of  men  that  tend  to  make  him  unfit  for  society,  and  con- 
cluded that,  beyond  the  limits  of  small  families,  he  is  not 
naturally  social.  In  reply,  Cumberland  undertakes  a  de- 
tailed examination  of  man's  physical  and  mental  traits  with 
a  view  to  determining  the  truth  of  the  matter;  and  he 
emerges  with  the  conclusion  that  man  is  certainly  adapted  to 
a  social  life.  Much  of  the  discussion  is  antiquated,  and  at 
some  points  it  is  fantastic  or  trivial ;  but  it  is  on  the  whole 
convincing.  The  power  of  forming  conceptions  and  uni- 
versal propositions ;  the  faculty  of  speech ;  the  power  of 
deliberation ;  the  emotions  of  love,  pity,  and  gratitude ;  the 
persistency  of  parental  affection;  the  variety  and  delicacy 
of  the  means  of  the  expression  of  the  emotions  —  these  are 
quite  sufficient  to  refute  Hobbes's  extreme  contention.1 

1  The  possibility  remains,  to  be  sure,  that  our  present  mode  of  existence 
is  vastly  more  social  than  that  to  which  man's  organically  inherited  traits 
are  adapted ;  and  that  an  important  part,  if  not  the  whole,  of  the  signifi- 
cance of  morality  consists  in  the  fact,  that  by  means  of  it  man  is  made  over 
in  such  a  fashion  that  he  becomes  capable  of  a  complexly  and  intensely  social 
life.  The  truth  would  thus  lie  between  Hobbes  and  Cumberland. 


196    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Social  Service  Essential  to  Happiness.  —  And  now,  since 
man  is  a  social  animal,  it  follows  that  his  natural  powers 
can  be  exerted  in  their  due  degree,  only  in  the  service  of 
society.  A  life  confined  to  selfish  ends  falls  far  short  of  man's 
capacities.  That  he  may  truly  live,  that  he  may  adequately 
realize  his  own  potentialities,  he  must  devote  himself  to  the 
common  good.  Not  only  is  benevolence  of  supreme  utility, 
but  the  benevolent  life  is  in  itself  the  supremely  happy  life. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  word  '  constitutes ' 
(constituit)  in  Cumberland's  formation  of  the  law  of  benev- 
olence is  intentionally  ambiguous,  just  in  order  to  cover 
these  two  points.  Benevolence  '  constitutes '  happiness 
both  as  a  contributing  cause  and  as  a  part;  or,  as  Cumberland 
puts  it :  "  Benevolence  is  both  the  intrinsic  cause  of  present 
happiness  and  the  efficient  cause  of  future  happiness,  and  is 
necessarily  requisite  in  respect  of  both." 


REFERENCES  ON  THE  HISTORY  OF  MODERN 
ETHICS 

See  references  on  the  history  of  ethics,  p.  104. 

ALBEB,  E.,  History  of  English  Utilitarianism. 

STEPHEN,  L.,  The  Utilitarians. 

WHEWELL,  W.,  Lectures  on  the  History  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  England. 

HALL,  T.  C.,  History  of  Ethics  within  Organized  Christianity,  pp. 

438-467. 
MACKINTOSH,  J.,  On  the  Progress  of  Ethical  Philosophy,  chiefly  during 

the  Seventeenth  and  Eighteenth  Centuries. 

REFERENCES  ON  THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN 

ETHICS 

HOBBES,  T.,  Leviathan. 
STEPHEN,  L.,  Hobbes. 
TAYLOR,  A.  E.,  Hobbes. 
CUDWORTH,  R.,  Treatise  concerning  Eternal  and  Immutable  Morality. 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  MODERN  ETHICS        197 

CUMBERLAND,  R.,  On  the  Laws  of  Nature  (Maxwell's  translation), 
especially  Chs.  I,  II. 

Locke,  J.,  Essay  concerning  Human  Understanding,  Book  I,  Chs. 
Ill,  IV,  7,  8 ;  Book  II,  Chs.  VII,  XX,  XXI,  XXII,  2,  9, 
XXVII,  18-20,  XXVIII,  XXX,  4,  XXXI,  3-5;  Book  III, 
Chs.  V,  esp.  3,  15,  IX,  6-9,  XI,  15,  16;  Book  IV,  Chs.  Ill, 
18-20,  IV,  3-10,  XII,  X,  8,  11,  XIV,  4;  and  Miscellaneous 
Papers  (in  Lord  King's  Life  of  John  Locke,  Vol.  II),  pp.  120- 
133. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS   OF  THE  EIGHTEENTH 
CENTURY 

I.   PRELIMINARY  REMARKS 

Mode  of  Treatment.  —  In  the  present  chapter  we  must 
briefly  consider  three  important  types  of  ethical  theory. 
Partly  for  brevity's  sake,  but  more  for  the  sake  of  clearness, 
we  shall  limit  ourselves  to  a  schematic  account  of  the  views 
generally  held  by  members  of  each  school,  without  taking 
account  of  individual  variations  of  opinion,  except  in  a  few 
instances  where  these  are  of  unusual  interest  and  importance. 

Hedonistic  Theory  of  Values.  —  It  will  make  matters 
easier  for  us,  if  we  note  at  the  outset  (and  bear  in  mind 
throughout)  that  all  the  thinkers  with  whom  we  shall  have 
to  deal  were  hedonists  in  their  general  theory  of  values.  All 
are  agreed  that  pleasure  is  the  sole  ultimate  good  and  pain 
the  sole  ultimate  evil.  I  say  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
Shaftesbury  (the  founder  of  the  moral-sense  school)  expressly 
rejects  hedonism,  and  declares  for  the  Aristotelian  view ;  for 
in  the  details  of  his  argument  it  is  on  the  hedonistic  theory 
that  he  constantly  relies.  The  general  acceptance  of  he- 
donism is  largely  due  to  the  influence  of  John  Locke,  who  gave 
forcible  expression  to  it  in  his  celebrated  Essay  concerning 
Human  Understanding  (1690), — a  work  which  formed  the 
background  of  English  thought  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
and  by  which  almost  all  the  ethical  writers  were  directly 
affected. 

Nativistic  and  Empiristic  Theories  of  Moral  Distinctions : 
Utilitarianism.  —  It  was,  then,  not  about  values  in  general, 

198 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY    199 

but  about  moral  values  in  particular,  that  men  disagreed, 
and  especially  about  the  mode  in  which  these  values  are  per- 
ceived. Two  of  the  schools  differ  from  the  third  in  holding 
to  a  nativistic  theory  of  the  moral  consciousness :  they  be- 
lieve that  the  capacity  for  moral  approval  and  disapproval 
is  an  original  endowment  of  human  nature,  not  to  be  reduced 
to  or  derived  from  any  other.  The  other  school  holds  to 
an  empiristic1  view,  maintaining  that  this  capacity  grows 
up  in  each  man  from  the  inborn  tendency  to  desire  pleasure 
and  avoid  pain.  Hence  it  has  been  appropriately  called  the 
'  derivative  school/  though  a  more  common  name  for  the 
theory  is  '  utilitarianism/ 

Intuitionalism  and  Sentimentalism.  —  The  two  nativistic 
schools  differ  essentially  in  this  :  that  according  to  one  school 
approval  and  disapproval  are  functions  of  reason,  while 
according  to  the  other  they  are  feelings  to  which  men  (by 
virtue  of  their  peculiar  mental  constitution)  are  subject. 
According  to  the  one  school,  right  and  wrong  are  relations 
between  different  sorts  of  acts  and  different  sorts  of  situa- 
tions, relations  which  exist  independently  of  our  perception 
of  them.  According  to  the  other  school,  an  act's  being  right 
or  wrong  means  simply  its  capacity  to  stimulate  in  us  a 
certain  peculiar  feeling.  The  term  '  intuitionalists '  is 
sometimes  loosely  used  to  include  both  nativistic  schools, 

1  The  reader  should  not  confuse  the  psychological  term  '  empiristic '  and 
the  logical  term  ' empiricistic '  (from  'empiricism')-  An  empiristic  theory 
is  a  theory  that  some  mental  function,  which  is  in  question,  is  not  innate  in 
us,  but  is  acquired  by  each  individual  —  say  through  the  process  of  associa- 
tion. Thus  whereas  nobody  would  think  of  entertaining  an  empiristic 
theory  of  color  sensation,  most  psychologists  hold  to  an  empiristic  theory 
of  the  visual  perception  of  distance.  Empiricism  is  a  theory  according  to 
which  all  knowledge  of  general  truths  is  derived  by  induction  from  particular 
facts.  As  we  shall  see,  the  English  sentimentalists  (mentioned  in  the  next 
paragraph)  are  empiricists ;  but  their  theory  of  the  perception  of  moral 
good  and  evil  is  not  empiristic  but  nativistic.  On  the  other  hand,  the  utilita- 
rians of  the  eighteenth  century,  while  their  theory  of  moral  perception  is 
empiristic,  are  rather  rationalists  than  empiricists  in  their  notions  of  scien- 
tific method. 


200    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

which  are  then  distinguished  as  '  rational '  and '  perceptional.' 
We  shall  distinguish  them  as  intuitionalists  and  sentimental- 
ists.1 

The  Typical  Writers.  —  The  student  should  realize  that 
the  differences  between  particular  writers  are  not  always  so 
sharp  as  the  main  lines  of  cleavage  between  the  three  schools 
would  lead  us  to  expect.  John  Locke  (whom  we  mentioned 
above)  is  a  curious  mixture  of  intuitionalism  and  the  deriva- 
tive theory.  Joseph  Butler  (Sermons  upon  Human  Nature, 
1726),  who  partly  on  account  of  his  position  as  a  bishop  of 
the  English  church,  but  far  more  on  account  of  the  sim- 
plicity, earnestness,  and  winning  common  sense  of  his  writings, 
has  had  a  lasting  influence  upon  English  ethics,  shows  affili- 
ations with  both  of  the  nativistic  schools.  In  the  account 
which  follows,  we  shall  have  to  neglect  men  of  this  sort,  and 
fix  our  attention  upon  the  more  sharply  defined  types.  Of 
the  intuitionalists  we  shall  bear  particularly  in  mind  Samuel 
Clarke  (1706)  and  Richard  Price  (1758) ;  of  the  sentimental- 
ists, Francis  Hutcheson  (1725  and  1755)  and  David  Hume 
(1740  and  1751);  of  the  utilitarians,  John  Gay  (1731), 
William  Paley^l785),  and  Jeremy  Bentham  (1789). 

Let  us  begin  with  the  intuitionalists. 

II.   INTUITIONALISM 
1.  The  Mathematical  Analogy 

Mathematical  Conception  of  Reason.  —  The  key  to  the 
understanding  of  these  men's  views  is  that  when  they  speak 
of  '  reason  '  they  always  have  in  mind  the  example  of  the 
employment  of  reason  in  mathematics.  In  order  to  make 
clear  what  they  think  about  morals,  the  first  essential  is  to 

1  The  term  '  moral-sense  theorists '  is  widely  used  instead  of  '  sentimen- 
talists';  but  it  strictly  applies  only  to  the  earlier  members  of  the  school, 
who  regarded  the  moral  sense,  or  conscience,  as  analogous  to  the  external 
senses,  such  as  sight  and  smell.  See  below,  p.  211. 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY    201 

explain  what  they  think  about  geometry  and  algebra  and 
their  applications. 

(1)  The  Axioms.  —  The  mathematical  sciences  take  their 
rise  from  certain  propositions  (the  '  axioms  ')  that  need  no 
proof,  being  self-evident.  The  knowledge  of  these  truths 
is  an  innate  capacity  of  human  nature.  Not  that  all  men 
know  them ;  for  very  little  children  certainly  do  not,  having 
never  thought  of  them.  But  as  soon  as  the  ideas  which  such 
a  proposition  contains  have  been  formed  in  the  mind,  and 
have  been  compared  together  in  the  way  the  proposition 
calls  for  —  in  other  words,  as  soon  as  the  proposition  is 
understood  —  its  truth  is  at  once  seen  to  be  unquestionable. 
For  we  perceive  an  eternal  relation  between  the  ideas,  and 
the  perception  of  this  relation  is  the  knowledge  of  the  axiom. 
Thus  not  every  one  knows  that  a  straight  line  is  the  shortest 
line  between  two  points.  But  as  soon  as  any  one  has  acquired 
the  ideas  of  straight  line  and  shortest  line,  and  has  com- 
pared them  together  in  his  mind,  the  relation  of  necessary 
coexistence  between  them  is  manifest. 

Now  the  intuitionalists  hold  that  the  like  is  true  of  our 
knowledge  of  right  and  wrong:  that  this  knowledge  too 
takes  its  rise  from  the  perception  of  self-evident  relations. 
A  new-born  child  has  no  idea  of  himself  or  of  his  conduct, 
and  it  will  be  long  before  he  has  any  idea  of  God.  But  as 
soon  as  he  acquires  these  ideas  and  compares  them  together, 
he  will  see  that  a  certain  sort  of  conduct  is  fitting  toward 
God,  namely,  love,  worship,  and  obedience.  In  other  words, 
that  sort  of  conduct  is  right  toward  God,  and  a  man  ought  so 
to  act.  Again,  as  soon  as  he  compares  himself  and  his  fel- 
low men  together,  he  sees  that  they  ought  to  treat  each  other 
justly  and  kindly.  And  when  he  compares  his  own  present 
condition  with  his  possible  future  life  of  happiness  or  misery, 
he  sees  that  he  ought  to  be  prudent.  All  these  relations  are 
as  certain  and  obvious  as  the  fundamental  mathematical 
relations;  and  like  these  they  are  no  mere  subjective  im- 


202    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

pression   of   ours,    but   a   part   of   the   eternal   nature  of 
things. 

(2)  Deductive  Procedure.  —  From  its  axioms  mathemat- 
ics deduces  other   propositions  of   narrower  and  narrower 
scope.     The  whole  course  of  the  argument  is  from  the  more 
general  to  the  less  general.     And,  finally,  there  is  the  appli- 
cation of  the  truths  of  the  science  to  particular  concrete 
circumstances.     The    application    is    always    a    deduction. 
For  example :  All  triangles  of  sixty  and  thirty  degrees  have 
the  hypothenuse  double  the  shorter  side ;    this  grass  plot 
is  a  triangle  of  sixty  and  thirty  degrees ;  therefore,  etc. 

The  like  is  true  of  the  case  of  morals.  From  the  axioms 
we  deduce  a  great  variety  of  special  duties  under  different 
conditions.  And  the  application  to  the  particular  case  in 
hand  is  in  the  same  deductive  way.  For  example :  It  is 
fitting  that  a  man  should  show  gratitude  for  kindnesses 
received ;  this  man  shows  gratitude  for  kindnesses  received ; 
therefore  his  conduct  is  fitting.  Or,  negatively :  This  man 
does  not  show  gratitude  for  kindnesses  received ;  therefore 
his  conduct  is  unfitting,  or  wrong. 

The  rules  according  to  which  conduct  is  fitting  or  unfitting 
are  called  '  moral  laws/  If  one  does  not  know  a  moral  law, 
one  has  no  means  of  knowing  whether  the  conduct  that  falls 
under  it  is  right  or  wrong. 

(3)  Truths    Independent    of    the    Will.  —  Mathematical 
truths  do  not  depend  upon  any  one's  will,  not  even  God's. 
It   is   only   particular   things  —  their   existence,    qualities, 
states,  and  relations  —  that  can  be  affected  by  a  will.     The 
universal  relations  of  which  mathematics  treats  are  neces- 
sary and  eternal.     God  did  not  make  two  and  two  equal  to 
four,  and  he  could  not  make  them  equal  to  five.     He  need 
not  have  created  anything  at  all,  and  he  can,  if  he  will, 
annihilate  all  that  he  has  created ;  but  whenever  and  where- 
ever  two  things  and  two  other  things  exist,  there  will  be  four 
things. 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY     203 

So  also  of  the  universal  relations  of  fitness  and  unfitness. 
It  is  not  due  to  any  command  of  God's  that  certain  modes 
of  conduct  should  be  fitting  under  certain  conditions  —  that 
love  and  equity,  for  instance,  should  be  fitting  in  the  inter- 
course of  man  and  man.1  God  need  not  have  created  man 
if  he  had  not  pleased,  and  he  could  have  made  him  a  very 
different  sort  of  creature  if  he  had  so  desired.  But  having 
made  man,  and  having  made  him  what  he  is,  he  does  not  in 
addition  make  man's  moral  relations.  No,  these  flow  in- 
evitably from  man's  nature. 

(4)  Absurdity.  —  To  think  that  two  and  two  are  five  is 
to  think  absurdly.  To  act  with  unkindness  towards  one's 
fellow  men  —  to  act  as  if  all  men  were  not  truly  in  need  of 
one  another's  love  and  cooperation  —  is  to  act  absurdly. 
And,  speaking  generally,  wickedness  is  the  same  thing  in 
act  that  falsity  is  in  thought.  It  is  setting  oneself  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  eternal  '  nature  of  things,'  than  which  nothing 
could  be  more  absurd. 

Here  let  us  take  our  leave  of  the  mathematical  analogy, 
which  from  this  point  can  give  us  little  detailed  help. 

2.    Obligation.    Reward  and  Punishment 

The  Righteousness  of  God.  —  It  is  inconceivable  that  God 
should  commit  any  absurdity.  Hence  we  must  suppose 
that  in  his  own  acts  he  always  directs  himself  according  to 
the  moral  law.  All  his  doings  are  absolutely  right. 

Moral  Obligation.  —  In  so  far  as  man,  too,  is  a  rational 
being,  it  may  be  said  to  be  his  nature  to  act  rationally,  i.e. 
morally.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  we  find  in  man  a  weak 
but  fairly  constant  impulse  to  do  the  right.  We  do  the  right 
unless  there  is  something  in  particular  to  be  gained  by  doing 

1  Still  less  can  such  a  relation  depend  upon  the  will  of  an  earthly  sovereign. 
(This  is  urged  as  a  crushing  criticism  of  Hobbes.)  To  be  sure,  when  the 
sovereign  bids  me  do  a  thing  which  was  before  indifferent,  I  ought  to  do  it ; 
but  that  is  because  previous  to  his  command  I  owed  him  obedience. 


204     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

wrong  —  or  unless  our  nature  has  been  perverted  by  habitual 
wrong  conduct  in  the  past.  The  idea  of  right  conduct  is,  to  a 
rational  being  as  such,  pleasant,  and  the  idea  of  wrong  con- 
duct unpleasant ;  and  we  are  always  impelled  toward  what 
is  pleasant  in  idea  and  away  from  what  is  unpleasant.  The 
pity  is  that  we  are  not  purely  rational,  but  also  sensitive 
beings,  constantly  impelled  by  sensual  inclinations  to  com- 
mit rational  absurdities.  And,  indeed,  if  our  sensual  im- 
pulses did  not  to  a  great  extent  oppose  one  another  and  thus 
cancel  out  one  another's  force,  our  impulse  to  do  right  would 
have  little  sway  over  our  conduct.  This  weak  but  constant 
tendency  of  our  rational  nature  is  called  the  feeling  of  moral 
obligation.  It  is  a  feeling,  which,  unlike  all  other  feelings, 
is  entirely  independent  of  our  sensations,  having  its  source 
in  reason  alone. 

God's  Commands.  — >  Since  God  invariably  directs  his 
actions  by  the  moral  law,  it  cannot  be  but  that  he  wishes  us 
to  act  thus  also ;  for  he  cannot  have  created  us  with  the  in- 
tention that  we  should  act  against  himself.  But  since  his 
wish  is  thus  manifest  it  amounts  to  a  command.  Right  is 
not  right  merely  because  God  commands  it ;  but  he  assuredly 
commands  it  because  it  is  right. 

The  Certainty  of  Reward  and  Punishment.  —  There  is  no 
real  command  without  authority;  and  there  is  no  real  au- 
thority without  the  ability  and  the  intention  to  reward  obedi- 
ence or  punish  disobedience.  (Of  course,  to  miss  a  reward 
is  in  some  sense  to  be  punished,  and  to  escape  punishment  is 
in  some  sense  to  be  rewarded.)  Now  we  cannot  elude  God's 
observation,  nor  can  we  resist  his  might.  It  is,  therefore, 
certain,  that  the  good  must  on  the  whole  be  happy,  and  the 
wicked  miserable. 

The  Future  Life.  —  This  is  a  conclusion  that  our  observa- 
tion in  this  life  does  not  verify.  It  is  not  true  that  in  human 
affairs  '  honesty  is  the  best  policy.'  The  best  policy  includes 
an  occasional  dishonesty  when  detection  or  punishment  is 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY     205 

improbable.  And,  aside  from  the  matter  of  general  policy, 
we  note  that  accidents  are  constantly  happening.  We  need 
little  experience  of  the  world  to  see  that  the  righteous  are 
often  oppressed  with  suffering,  while  the  unrighteous  indulge 
in  all  manner  of  unrestricted  pleasure.  But  this  only  proves 
that  there  must  be  a  life  beyond  the  present,  in  which  the 
justice  of  God  shall  be  made  manifest,  and  the  righteous  and 
the  unrighteous  shall  alike  meet  with  their  deserts. 

Summary.  —  Thus,  while  moral  relations  are  independent 
of  future  reward  and  punishment,  future  reward  and  punish- 
ment are  a  necessary  consequence  of  moral  relations  in  such 
a  world  as  ours.  As  it  was  sometimes  expressed,  right  and 
wrong  are  logically  prior  to  reward  and  punishment.  It  is 
because  right  is  right  and  wrong  is  wrong  that  reward  and 
punishment  are  themselves  right  and  may  be  confidently 
expected  from  God. 

Reenforcement  of  Moral  Obligation.  —  The  expectation 
of  a  future  reward  and  punishment  is  necessary  in  order  to 
make  it  possible  for  the  ordinary  man  to  act  rightly  when 
such  a  course  appears  to  be  contrary  to  his  temporal  interests. 
There  are  men  —  heroes,  we  call  them  —  in  whom  the  feeling 
of  moral  obligation  is  so  strong  that  even  the  utmost  danger 
or  pain  cannot  make  them  swerve  from  the  course  of  right- 
eousness. But  the  vast  majority  of  mankind  are  not  so 
constituted.  This  was  the  great  mistake  of  the  high-sounding 
morality  of  the  stoics,  the  mistake  that  made  their  teaching 
so  ineffectual.  The  ordinary  man  cannot  act  rightly  unless 
he  believes  that  so  doing  will  promote  his  own  happiness,  or, 
at  least,  not  oppose  it,  and  it  would  be  unreasonable  to  expect 
him  to  do  so.  And  therefore  God  has  made  the  evidence  of 
his  existence  and  of  his  purposes  toward  man  so  clear  and 
obvious,  that  if  men  were  not  the  slaves  of  sensual  lusts, 
none  of  them  could  possibly  remain  ignorant  of  these  truths. 


206    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

3.    The  Universality  of  Moral  Laws 

Such  is  the  system  of  intuitionalism.  To  us  of  the  twen- 
tieth century  it  seems  hard  and  bare.  To  its  advocates  of 
the  eighteenth  century  —  and  these  were  numerous  —  it 
seemed  to  possess  certain  strong  recommendations. 

(1)  Moral  Laws  are  Objective.  —  It  raised  morality  above 
the  level  of  conflicting  individual  impressions,  and  gave  it  the 
status  of  objective  truth.     No  man  could  set  up  a  standard 
of  his  own  and  declare  that  by  following  his  private  con- 
science he  was  acting  rightly.     If  his  conscience  was  not  in 
accord  with  the  eternal  moral  law,  so  much  the  worse  for 
him ;   he  was  condemned  already.     He  might  as  well  claim 
that  an  addition,  in  which  he  had  set  down  8  and  5  as  making 
14,  was  right,  because  that  was  the  way  it  had  seemed  to  him. 

(2)  The  Fundamental    Laws    are  without  Exceptions.  — 
Moreover,  according  to  this  system,  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciples of  morals  were  seen  to  be  universal,  admitting  of  no 
particular  exceptions.     If  injustice  is  wrong,  nothing  can 
make  it  right.     The  more  special  laws,  being  due  to  the 
application  of  the  more  general  laws  to  changeable  human 
circumstances,  may  indeed  break  down.     The  law,    Thou 
shall  not  kill,  breaks  down  when  we  try  to  extend  it  to  the 
soldier  in  battle  or  to  the  officer  of  the  law,  or  even  to  the 
private  citizen  who  acts  in  self-defense.     That  is  because  the 
law  is  thereby  carried  beyond  the  limits  within  which  it  is  a 
valid  application  of  first  principles.     But  the  first  principles 
and  all  direct  deductions  from  them  are  absolute.     (The 
distinction  is  analogous  to  that  between  pure  and  applied 
mathematics.) 

Why  was  the  universality  of  the  fundamental  laws  felt 
to  be  important?  Because  moral  practice  was  thus  given  a 
regularity,  and  social  institutions  a  stability,  that  seemed 
to  be  otherwise  impossible.  In  the  eighteenth  century,  men 
were  especially  concerned  to  maintain  the  inviolability  of 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY    207 

property  rights.  Ethicists  of  all  schools  vied  with  each 
other  in  proclaiming  their  loyalty  to  this  doctrine ;  but  the 
intuitionalists  were  no  doubt  in  the  best  position  to  defend  it. 
If  the  principle  of  justice  is  an  axiomatic  truth,  there  seems 
to  be  little  room  for  any  excuse  for  depriving  a  man  of  his  own. 

(3)  Moral   Laws  are  Valid  for  All  Men.  — It  belongs  to 
the  universality  of  the  moral  laws  that  they  are  valid  every- 
where, and  for  all  men.     What  is  wrong  for  Peter  is  not 
right  for  Paul ;  and  what  is  wrong  for  the  Greek  is  not  right 
for  the  barbarian.     Just  so,  there  is  but  one  geometry  for 
all  the  nations.     If  differences  in  men's  moral  standards  are 
reported  to  us  by  both  ancient  and  modern  writers,  it  may  be 
said,  first,  that  most  of  these  reports  are  doubtless  super- 
ficial and  inaccurate.     Secondly,  men  who  are  addicted  to 
evil  practices  often  profess  to  consider  them  innocent,  though 
in  their  hearts  they  know  them  to  be  wrong.     Thirdly,  though 
the  moral  axioms  are  self-evident  to  one  who  attends  to  the 
significance,  men  who  are  led  away  by  selfish  desires  may 
easily  fail  to  attend ;  just  as,  from  lack  of  due  consideration, 
it  might  never  occur  to  a  man  that  two  intersecting  straight 
lines  cannot  both  be  parallel  to  a  third  straight  line.     Lastly, 
such  genuine  differences  in  moral  standards  as  do  occur  must 
be  regarded  as  being  due  to  the  application  of  the  same  fun- 
damental principles  to  varying  social  conditions. 

(4)  They  are  Changeless.  —  It  goes  without  saying  that 
moral  principles  are  not  only  universal  spatially,  but  tem- 
porally also.     All  apparent  changes  are  explained  away  like 
the  apparent  differences  between  the  morals  of  different 
climes. 

III.   SENTIMENTALISM 

1.    Empirical  Standpoint 

The  Question  of  Fact.  —  But  with  all  the  advantages 
which  the  intuitionalistic  theory  can  claim,  the  question 
remains  :  Does  it  square  with  the  facts  f  And,  in  particular, 


208    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

when  we  see  men  committing  noble  or  contemptible  acts, 
is  our  approval  or  disapproval  brought  about  by  a  piece  of 
deductive  reasoning  —  by  an  application  of  a  general  rule 
to  the  given  case?  And  here  let  us  not  try  to  dodge  the 
issue  by  saying  that  we  reason,  but  reason  unconsciously. 
Reasoning  is  a  conscious  process ;  and  unconscious  reasoning 
is  a  preposterous  contradiction  in  terms.  If  our  approbation 
or  disapprobation  is  the  logical  conclusion  of  a  deductive 
inference,  we  should  have  no  difficulty  in  attesting  the  fact. 
Can  we? 

Perceptions  before  Rules.  —  This  was  the  question  raised 
by  the  leaders  of  the  sentimental  school,  and  answered  by 
them  in  the  negative.  These  men  were  empiricists.  To 
their  mind  the  advancement  of  human  knowledge  is  not  so 
much  deductive  as  inductive.  The  particular  comes  before 
the  universal,  the  fact  before  the  reason  for  the  fact.  And 
this  attitude  of  theirs  they  show  in  the  domain  of  morals  as 
elsewhere.  Their  whole  mental  disposition  inclines  them 
to  think  that  we  first  perceive  the  goodness  or  badness  dis- 
played on  particular  occasions,  and  only  later  (if  at  all)  learn 
to  bring  our  perceptions  under  general  rules. 

2.    The  Analogy  of  Beauty 

But  the  sentimentalists,  too,  are  influenced  by  a  pervasive 
analogy.  As  the  example  of  mathematical  relations  was 
determinative  for  intuitionalism,  so  the  example  of  beauty  is 
determinative  for  the  present  theory. 

(l)  The  Immediacy  of  Perception.  —  When  we  look  at  a 
thing  and  find  it  beautiful,  we  do  not  —  ordinarily,  at  any 
rate  —  reason  out  its  beauty.  We  do  not  say,  for  example : 
Everything  with  such  and  such  proportions  is  beautiful ; 
this  object  has  those  proportions ;  therefore  it  is  beautiful. 
Sometimes  we  may  approach  such  a  procedure,  as  when  we 
note  the  conventional  '  points '  of  a  fashionable  breed  of 
horses  or  dogs,  or  count  the  lines  of  an  alleged  sonnet  to  see 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY    209 

if  there  are  just  fourteen.  But  ordinarily  our  impressions  of 
beauty  are  gained  in  a  much  more  simple  and  direct  fashion. 
We  look,  and  are  impressed.  That  is  why  we  can  speak  ap- 
propriately of  a  sense  of  beauty.  To  see  that  a  woman  is 
beautiful  requires  no  more  reasoning  than  to  see  the  color 
of  her  hair. 

Now,  according  to  the  ethicists  of  the  sentimental  school, 
the  case  is  plainly  the  same  in  the  perception  of  the  moral 
qualities  displayed  in  conduct.  When  we  see  a  man  beating 
a  little  child,  we  do  not  have  to  reason  thus :  To  torment  one 
who  is  helpless  is  cruel ;  this  man  is  tormenting  one  who  is 
helpless ;  therefore  he  is  cruel.  No ;  as  we  look  a  sensation 
of  moral  indignation  arises  spontaneously  within  us.  And, 
similarly,  if  the  child's  mother,  at  the  risk  of  serious  injury 
to  herself,  should  try  to  stop  the  beating,  we  should  feel,  far 
more  quickly  than  we  could  reason,  a  glow  of  admiration  for 
her  courage  and  self-sacrifice. 

(2)  Approval  and  Disapproval  are  Unanalyzable  and  In- 
voluntary. —  The  moral  sense  and  the  sense  of  beauty  are 
like  the  external  senses  of  sight,  hearing,  taste,  etc.,  in  the 
fact  that  they  give  rise  to  simple,  unanalyzable  sensations, 
that  can  be  gained  in  no  other  way.  The  sensations  derived 
from  the  moral  sense  are  of  two  kinds :  those  of  approval 
and  those  of  disapproval;  either  of  which  may  occur  in  a 
great  many  different  intensities  and  in  all  sorts  of  mixtures 
and  fusions  with  other  feelings.  The  moral  sense  and  the 
sense  of  beauty  are  like  the  external  senses  in  this  too :  that 
however  much  in  the  way  of  reflection  and  volition  may  precede 
the  sensation,  the  sensation  itself  contains  no  reflection  or 
volition.  I  may  reflect  whether  I  shall  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow at  the  lawn,  and  I  may  finally  will  to  do  so.  But  in  the 
sensation  of  green,  as  I  then  become  conscious  of  it,  there  is 
nothing  but  the  green  itself.  And  so  long  as  the  same  stimu- 
lus continues  to  act  upon  my  visual  organs,  I  shall  continue 
to  see  that  same  green.  So  it  is  with  the  sense  of  beauty  or 
p 


210    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

ugliness,  of  virtue  or  vice.  My  detestation  of  this  man's 
cruelty,  or  my  admiration  for  that  woman's  kindness,  is 
perfectly  spontaneous  and  involuntary. 

(3)  The  Idea-stimulus.  —  The  moral  sense  and  the  sense  of 
beauty  differ,  however,  from  the  external  senses  in  one  all- 
important  respect.  The  exciting  cause  of  the  external  sen- 
sation is  physical  —  a  change  of  some  sort  in  the  nervous 
mechanism.  The  stimulus  of  the  moral  sense  or  the  sense 
of  beauty  is  an  idea  either  of  perception  or  of  imagination. 
When,  for  example,  I  contemplate  a  fine  painting,  the  sen- 
sations of  color,  with  their  various  shades  and  intensities, 
are  externally  excited.  The  sensations  combine  with  fainter 
images  that  are  revived  by  association,  to  form  an  idea  (or 
percept)  of  the  object.  This  idea,  now,  is  the  direct  stimulus 
of  the  sense  of  beauty.  So  the  idea  of  an  act  of  kindness 
may  be  the  direct  stimulus  of  the  sensation  of  approval. 

The  formation  of  the  idea  may  be  a  very  simple  matter  of 
direct  perception ;  or  it  may  be  a  very  complicated  matter, 
involving  much  reflection  and  reasoning.  Suppose,  to  take 
an  extreme  instance,  that  the  object  to  be  appreciated  as 
beautiful  or  ugly  is  Shakespeare's  King  Lear.  To  form  an 
adequate  idea  of  the  play  as  a  whole  may  well  test  a  man's 
utmost  mental  capacity.  Or  suppose  that  the  act  to  be  ap- 
preciated as  good  or  bad  is  Henry  the  Eighth's  declaration 
of  the  independence  of  the  Church  of  England.  Here  again, 
in  the  formation  of  the  idea  of  the  moral  action,  the  utmost 
critical  ability  of  the  historian  may  be  called  into  play.  The 
idea  of  the  moral  act  of  another  person  can  never  be  quite 
so  simply  formed  as  the  idea  of  an  aesthetic  object  often  is, 
because  the  moral  act  is  essentially  psychical  in  its  nature  — 
an  unseen  determination  of  the  will,  which  the  observer 
must  imaginatively  reconstruct  from  the  evidences  afforded 
by  the  external  aspect  of  the  act.  It  is  only  in  one's  own 
case  that  a  direct  perception  of  the  inner  motives  of  conduct 
is  possible. 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY    211 

But,  whether  the  formation  of  the  idea  be  simple  or  com- 
plicated, the  stimulation  of  the  aesthetic  or  moral  sense 
takes  place  always  in  the  same  way ;  and  the  aesthetic  or 
moral  sensation  that  results  is  equally  a  peculiar  and  ul- 
timate experience. 

The  Sentiments.  —  This  difference,  which  we  have  re- 
marked, between  the  sense  of  beauty  and  the  moral  sense, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  external  senses  on  the  other  hand, 
came  in  time  to  affect  the  terminology  of  the  school.  The 
former  were  called  sentiments.  Nor  was  it  a  matter  of  ter- 
minology alone ;  for  the  sentiments  were  treated  as  a  class 
of  emotions,  differing  from  another  class,  the  passions,  in  that 
sentiments  are  seldom  very  intense,  while  passions  (such  as 
love,  fear,  and  envy)  are  usually  much  more  intense  than  the 
sentiments  and  sometimes  reach  a  very  high  degree  of  in- 
tensity indeed.  It  was  believed,  too,  that  the  sentiments 
were  like  other  emotions  in  this :  that  no  idea  is  capable  of 
exciting  them  unless  it  is  accompanied  by  a  sensation  (or 
idea)  of  pleasure  or  pain  (Hume).  All  this,  however,  did 
not  change  the  fundamental  feature  of  the  theory.  Moral 
and  aesthetic  approval  and  disapproval  are  elementary  con- 
tents of  the  mind,  spontaneously  called  up  by  their  peculiar 
stimuli  —  not  modes  of  rational  judgment. 

(4)  Relativity  of  Beauty  and  Virtue.  —  Nothing  is  beau- 
tiful or  ugly,  virtuous  or  vicious,  in  itself.  To  say  that  a 
thing  is  beautiful  means  simply  that  the  contemplation  of  it 
arouses  in  us  the  feeling  of  aesthetic  approval ;  and  to  say 
that  an  act  is  bad  means  simp]  y  that  the  thought  of  this  act 
arouses  in  us  the  feeling  of  moral  disapproval.  It  is  just  as 
it  is  with  the  external  senses.  If  there  were  no  sense  of 
sight,  there  would  be  no  colors ;  if  there  were  no  sense  of  hear- 
ing, there  would  be  no  noises  or  tones.  If  a  man  is  without 
a  moral  sense,  he  is,  in  so  far,  like  one  born  blind.  There  is 
no  way  of  making  up  to  him  his  defect ;  and  the  world  must 
ever  remain  for  him  devoid  of  virtue  and  vice. 


212    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

This  is  the  feature  of  the  moral-sense  theory  which  called 
forth  the  most  severe  criticism :  that  it  gave  the  moral  dis- 
tinctions between  right  and  wrong,  good  and  bad,  the  same 
relativity  as  the  distinction  between  red  and  yellow  or  hot 
and  cold.  (According  to  the  intuitionalists,  it  will  be  re- 
membered, these  distinctions  are  strictly  objective,  belonging 
eternally  to  the  '  nature  of  things/  like  the  distinction  be- 
tween equal  and  unequal  or  straight  and  curved.)  For  if 
morality  is  relative  to  feeling,  then  we  must  bear  in  mind 
that  all  feelings  are  individual.  What  is  bright  to  one  man's 
eyes  may  be  dark  to  another's,  and  what  is  cold  to  one  man's 
skin  may  be  hot  to  another's.  That  may  all  be  very  well 
so  far  as  beauty  and  ugliness  are  concerned  —  "  There  is 
no  disputing  about  tastes."  But  as  applied  to  moral  good 
and  evil  it  is  abominable,  for  it  resolves  the  whole  order  of 
society  into  anarchy. 

Uniformity  of  the  Moral  Sense.  —  The  answer  of  the  sen- 
timentalists to  this  criticism  is  that  it  is  a  gross  exaggera- 
tion. Among  normal,  sound-minded  men,  the  moral  sense 
varies  scarcely  at  all.  Superficial  critics  often  exclaim  upon 
the  prodigious  differences  between  our  moral  standards  and 
those  of  the  ancient  Hebrews,  Greeks,  and  Romans,  or  even 
those  of  the  French  people  of  our  own  day.  But  these 
differences,  great  as  they  are,  touch  only  the  externals  of 
conduct,  and  are  for  the  most  part  to  be  justified  by  the  very 
different  conditions  under  which  men  in  different  times  and 
places  live.  The  appreciation  of  the  underlying  qualities 
of  character  remains  practically  constant.  Thus  the  early 
Hebrews  sanctioned  polygamy,  and  we  condemn  it;  and 
they  regarded  all  plastic  art  as  sinful,  while  we  find  it  inno- 
cent. But  in  all  times  and  places  kindness,  courage,  loyalty, 
justice,  and  wisdom  have  been  admired,  and  cruelty,  coward- 
ice, treachery,  injustice,  and  folly  have  been  despised.  The 
economic  and  social  conditions  which  made  polygamy  jus- 
tifiable have  disappeared ;  and  the  temptation  to  idolatry, 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY    213 

which  made  the  representation  of  human  and  animal  forms 
dangerous,  is  no  longer  prevalent.  But  the  good  heart  and 
the  evil  heart  are  what  they  have  always  been. 

Moral  Defectives.  —  The  moral  sense,  it  has  been  said, 
is  uniform  in  its  operation  among  all  mankind.  There  are 
individuals  whose  moral  sense  has  deteriorated,  just  as  there 
are  individuals  whose  sense  of  sight  or  hearing  or  taste  has 
decayed;  but  these  are  readily  recognized  as  abnormal. 
And,  practically,  these  men  no  more  disturb  the  values  of 
morality  than  the  blind  or  the  deaf  affect  the  greens  or 
browns  of  the  landscape  or  the  shrill  twittering  of  the 
birds. 

Infallibility  of  the  Moral  Sense.  — The  moral  sense  may 
from  two  different  points  of  view  be  regarded  as  infallible. 
In  the  first  place,  since,  as  we  have  said,  right  means  only 
what  the  moral  sense  approves  and  wrong  what  the  moral 
sense  disapproves,  it  follows  at  once  that  whatever  the  moral 
sense  approves  is  right,  and  that  whatever  it  disapproves  is 
wrong.  It  is  the  same,  of  course,  with  the  sense  of  beauty,  as 
it  is  also  with  the  external  senses.  What  feels  hot  is  hot ; 
what  tastes  sour  is  sour ;  what  seems  beautiful  is  beautiful ; 
for,  in  respect  to  sense-qualities,  to  seem  and  to  be  are  the 
same.  The  moral  sense  is  infallible  just  because  there  is  no 
standard  outside  itself  by  which  it  might  be  judged. 

In  the  second  place,  the  moral  sense  (except  in  case  of 
abnormality)  is  infallible  because  of  its  uniformity  among  all 
mankind.  That  is  to  say,  if  we  judge  one  man's  moral  sen- 
timents by  comparing  them  with  the  sentiments  which  other 
men  receive  from  like  objects,  we  find  them  to  be  in  entire 
agreement. 

Error  in  the  Idea-stimulus.  —  Here  again  we  must  bear 
in  mind  that  the  object  which  directly  stimulates  the  moral 
sense  is  not  an  external  fact  but  an  idea;  and  that  in  the 
formulation  of  this  idea  an  indefinite  amount  of  reflection 
and  even  abstruse  reasoning  may  enter.  Now  any  part  of 


214    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

this  reflective  process  may  be  seriously  in  error.  Thus  it 
may  happen  that  a  man  of  perfectly  sound  moral  sense  may 
appear  to  approve  of  the  most  dastardly  crime.  But  that 
is  because  he  has  not  formed  a  correct  idea  of  it.  His  ap- 
proval is  of  the  act  as  he  conceives  it  to  have  been;  and  if  he 
explains  this  conception  of  his  to  any  other  morally  sound 
man,  the  latter  will  certainly  agree  with  him. 

This  is  the  way  in  which  the  moral-sense  writers  explain 
most  of  the  variations  in  men's  moral  standards  that  are  not 
to  be  ascribed  to  changed  external  conditions.  As  men 
learn  to  form  clearer  and  fuller  conceptions  of  conduct, 
their  standards  of  righteousness  naturally  become  more 
adequate.  Not  because  the  moral-sense  has  changed  its 
action  in  the  slightest,  but  because  the  intellectual  stimulus 
to  its  action  has  changed.  So  much  can  be  explained  in  this 
way  that  the  later  moral-sense  writers  gave  up  the  notion 
of  a  defective  moral  sense.  In  cases  where  the  earlier 
writers  would  have  said  that  a  man's  misjudgments  were 
certainly  due  to  some  intrinsic  defect,  the  later  writers  blame 
all  on  ignorance,  inattention,  or  faulty  reasoning. 

(5)  Utility  of  Rules.  —  Since  the  moral  sense  (like  the 
aesthetic  sense)  acts  spontaneously  when  its  peculiar  stimuli 
are  present,  what  is  the  significance  or  utility  of  moral  rules  ? 
We  do  not  need  these  rules  in  order  to  judge  conduct,  any 
more  than  we  need  aesthetic  rules  in  order  to  see  that  a 
picture  or  a  poem  is  beautiful.  Why,  then,  do  we  have  them 
at  all?  In  the  first  place,  the  rules  satisfy  a  certain  intel- 
lectual curiosity.  We  are  interested  to  determine  what  sort 
of  objects  stimulate  our  approbation  or  disapprobation ;  and 
the  rules  sum  up  the  results  of  our  observation.  Some- 
times the  rules  are  based  on  insufficient  observation,  and 
hence  do  not  always  hold.  Just  as  the  study  of  the  an- 
cient drama  led  critics  to  certain  rules  of  the  unity  of  time 
and  place,  which  the  modern  romantic  dramatists  showed 
to  be  entirely  without  cogency;  so  in  the  field  of  morals 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY    215 

men  have  jumped  to  such  conclusions  as,  All  dancing  is  wrong, 
which  a  wider  experience  fails  to  confirm. 

In  the  second  place,  our  moral  generalizations  have  an 
important  effect  upon  the  formation  of  the  idea  of  the  particu- 
lar conduct  that  is  to  be  appreciated.  The  like  is  true,  again, 
of  aesthetic  generalizations.  If  I  am  thoroughly  convinced 
that  the  unities  of  time  and  place  are  sacred,  I  may  sit 
through  a  performance  of  A  Winter's  Tale  without  being 
able  to  take  in  half  the  beauty  of  the  drama.  My  previous 
expectations  are  so  perverse  that  I  cannot  form  other  than 
a  distorted  notion  of  the  whole ;  and  the  play,  as  /  see  it,  is 
really  as  poor  as  I  take  it  to  be.  When  a  moral  rule  has 
become  firmly  fixed  in  a  man's  mind,  it  has  a  powerful  in- 
fluence in  directing  his  attention  and  in  determining  just  what 
he  shall  notice.  If  I  believe  that  all  who  dance  are  wicked, 
that  fact  may  be  sufficient  to  blind  me  to  the  utmost  gen- 
erosity and  courage.  But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  this 
effect  of  moral  rules  is  wholly  bad.  On  the  contrary,  they 
fulfill  a  very  important  function.  They  give  a  stability 
to  our  moral  reactions  toward  our  fellows,  that  would  other- 
wise be  impossible.  Our  ideas  are  never  a  bare  reproduc- 
tion or  a  full  reproduction  of  the  external  reality.  We 
cannot  but  add  from  our  imagination ;  and  we  cannot  but 
neglect  what  does  not  appeal  to  our  interests.  The  influence 
of  moral  rules  may  mislead  us  on  occasion ;  but  in  the  ab- 
sence of  all  rules  we  might,  for  want  of  any  proper  direction 
of  our  attention,  go  even  farther  astray. 

3.    Obligation 

Relation  between  Virtue  and  Happiness.  —  In  our  account 
of  intuitionalism  we  gave  due  place  to  the  doctrine  that  the 
good  must  ultimately  be  happy  and  the  wicked  miserable. 
There  the  proof  turned  upon  the  will  of  God,  and  verifica- 
tion was  looked  for  in  another  world.  The  sentimentalists 
have  a  similar  doctrine ;  but,  moved  as  they  are  by  the  spirit 


216    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

of  empirical  science,  they  try  to  find  evidence  for  their  view 
in  the  common  experience  of  mankind,  maintaining  that  even 
here  and  now  virtue  is  the  good  and  vice  the  evil  of  every 
man.  They  try  to  show  that  the  virtuous  character  is  that 
which  is  in  itself  the  source  of  the  most  enduring  satisfaction 
and  best  predisposes  one  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  all  pleasures 
and  to  the  calm  endurance  of  all  pains;  and  furthermore 
that  it  is  only  in  so  far  as  men  are  virtuous  that  they  can  hope 
for  that  loving  companionship  and  cooperation  of  their 
fellows  upon  which  human  happiness  largely  depends.  They 
try  to  show  that  vice  is  in  itself  a  condition  of  uneasiness  and 
turmoil,  in  which  the  higher  pleasures  are  for  the  most  part 
impossible  and  the  lower  pleasures  quickly  lose  their  savor ; 
and  that  even  when  the  chances  of  fortune  set  the  wicked 
man  in  a  position  of  power  and  affluence,  and  visit  the  good 
man  with  poverty  and  affliction,  the  real  advantage  in  all 
probability  lies  with  the  latter.  They  cannot  claim  (apart 
from  the  religious  faith  which  they  may  have)  that  every 
good  man  is  bound  to  be  happier  than  every  bad  man ;  but 
they  do  maintain  that  under  any  circumstances  the  chances 
that  a  man  can  increase  his  happiness  by  wrongdoing  are 
practically  nil.  In  other  words,  according  to  the  sentimen- 
talists, it  is  never  good  policy  to  do  wrong,  even  when  this 
life  only  is  considered.1 

The  Two  '  Obligations.'  —  The  term  '  obligation  '  is  used 
by  these  writers  in  two  senses.  On  the  one  hand,  it  is  used 
to  denote  the  fact  that  a  certain  course  of  conduct  is  the 
only  right  course  under  the  given  circumstances.  To  be 
'  obliged  '  to  pay  one's  debts  means,  then,  that  not  to  pay 
them  would  necessarily  be  wrong.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
may  denote  the  fact  that  a  given  course  of  conduct  can  be 
counted  on  to  bring  the  agent  greater  happiness  than  any 
alternative,  so  that  to  act  otherwise  would  involve  a  sacrifice. 

1  The  reader  of  the  Republic  cannot  fail  to  observe  that  this  is  substan- 
tially the  Platonic  view. 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY    217 

In  this  sense,  to  be  '  obliged  '  to  pay  one's  debts  means  that 
if  one  does  not  pay  them  one  will  have  to  suffer  for  it.  The 
first  interpretation  gives  us  '  moral  obligation/  or  the  'ob- 
ligation of  conscience  ' ;  the  second,  the  '  obligation  of  self- 
love.'  And  the  doctrine  of  the  school  is  that  these  two  ob- 
ligations, although  logically  distinct,  are  practically  coin- 
cident. 

Feelings  of  Obligation.  —  It  goes  without  saying  that  a 
man's  moral  obligation  may  diverge  widely  from  what  he 
feels  to  be  for  his  best  interests.  But  in  that  case  his  feeling 
as  to  his  interests  is  mistaken ;  whereas  the  feeling  of  moral 
obligation  is  infallible.  To  feel  an  obligation  of  self-love 
and  actually  to  lie  under  such  an  obligation  are  not  at  all 
the  same  thing;  to  feel  a  moral  obligation  is  to  lie  under 
it. 

In  thus  maintaining  the  distinction  between  moral  ob- 
ligation and  the  obligation  of  self-love,  the  moral  sense 
theorists  are  in  accord  with  the  intuitionalists.  It  will 
shortly  be  seen  that  this  is  a  point  upon  which  both  of  the 
nativistic  schools  differ  from  the  utilitarians,  according  to 
whom  moral  obligation  is  simply  the  highest  self-interest. 

4.    The  Stimuli 

The  Further  Question.  —  In  the  preceding  pages  it  has 
been  our  aim  to  give  an  account  of  the  sentimental  theory, 
which,  while  not  absolutely  faithful  to  any  one  of  the  writers, 
fairly  represents  the  common  thought  of  the  principal  men. 
But  there  remains  to  be  treated  a  question  of  maximum  im- 
portance, concerning  which  their  disagreement  is  too  great 
to  be  reconciled. 

This  question  concerns  the  stimuli  of  the  moral  sense. 
What  is  their  nature?  Just  as  we  might  ask  with  regard 
to  the  stimuli  of  sound :  What  is  the  nature  of  auditory 
stimuli  generally,  and  how  do  those  which  produce  tone 
differ  from  those  which  produce  noise  ?  —  so  we  have  to 


218    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

ask  concerning  the  stimuli  of  the  moral  sense :  What  is 
their  nature  generally,  and  how  do  those  which  produce 
approval  differ  from  those  that  produce  disapproval? 

Extent  of  Agreement.  —  On  the  general  question  all  the 
writers  are  still  so  far  in  agreement  as  to  hold  that  the  stimu- 
lus is  always  the  idea  of  a  trait  of  character  as  it  expresses 
itself  in  conduct.  The  moral-sense  ethics  is  thus  preemi- 
nently an  ethics  of  virtue  (in  contrast  to  the  intuitionalistic 
ethics  of  duty). 

Shaftesbury :  Harmonious  Character.  —  But  immedi- 
ately disagreement  sets  in.  According  to  Shaftesbury, 
approval  is  stimulated  by  any  indication  of  an  harmonious 
character,  disapproval  by  any  indication  of  an  ill-balanced 
character ;  and  an  harmonious  character  is  one  which  is  so 
organized  as  to  be  for  the  good  of  society  (or  of  the  human 
species)  as  a  whole.  To  show  more  clearly  what  this  amounts 
to,  he  divides  all  human  propensities  into  three  kinds :  the 
natural  (or  benevolent)  affections,  the  self-affections,  and 
the  unnatural  (or  malevolent)  affections.  And  he  finds  that 
in  the  harmonious  character  the  natural  affections  are  very 
strong,  the  self-affections  are  moderate,  and  the  unnatural 
affections  are  altogether  absent. 

Hutcheson :  Benevolence.  —  This  theory  soon  led  to 
one  much  simpler.  According  to  Hutcheson,  the  one  stimu- 
lus of  approbation  is  benevolence,  and  the  one  stimulus  of 
disapprobation  is  the  yielding  of  benevolence  to  some  stronger 
motive.  Hutcheson  attempts  to  show  that  all  other  virtues, 
such  as  courage,  prudence,  or  justice,  are  reducible  to  benev- 
olence. Justice,  for  example,  while  it  may  involve  an  ap- 
parent disregard  of  certain  personal  interests,  is  always  di- 
rected to  the  furtherance  of  more  extensive  interests.  And 
courage,  when  not  prompted  by  benevolent  motives,  is 
either  morally  indifferent  or  positively  wrong. 

Butler's  Criticism.  —  The  question  whether  all  virtue  is 
reducible  to  benevolence  was  actively  discussed  by  moral- 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY     219 

sense  theorists.  Bishop  Butler  urged  that  while  for  God 
this  might  well  be  true,  for  man  it  could  not  be  true;  for 
the  simple  reason  that  we  have  not  sufficient  intelligence 
and  foresight  to  guide  our  conduct  by  a  calculation  of  the 
interests  involved.  To  try  to  live  according  to  the  dictates 
of  pure  benevolence  would  result  most  disastrously.  We 
should  soon  be  drifting  into  the  most  abominable  crimes  — 
all  for  the  sake  of  the  general  happiness.  For  us,  therefore, 
justice  must  always  be  a  second  virtue,  irreducible  to  benev- 
olence. It  was  generally  felt  that  Butler's  position  was 
the  more  sound. 

Hume  :  Sympathy.  —  According  to  Hume,  the  stimulus 
of  approbation  is  any  trait  of  character  which  is  sympatheti- 
cally felt  to  be  useful  or  immediately  pleasant  either  to  the 
possessor  or  (more  importantly)  to  others  who  may  be 
affected  by  his  conduct.  Disapprobation  is  aroused  by  any 
trait  which  is  sympathetically  felt  to  be  harmful  or  im- 
mediately unpleasant  to  the  possessor  or  others.  The  list 
of  virtues  and  vices  is  thus  greatly  increased.  Justice  is 
valued  wholly  by  reason  of  our  sympathy  for  those  who  may 
generally  be  expected  to  benefit  by  it.  Benevolence  is 
mainly  valued  for  a  similar  reason,  but  also  because  we  sym- 
pathize with  the  immediate  pleasure  which  the  benevolent 
man  feels  in  the  practice  of  his  virtue.  Discretion,  enter- 
prise, industry,  frugality,  sobriety,  and  perseverance  are 
examples  of  virtues  that  are  such  because  they  are  useful  to 
their  possessor.  Courtesy,  modesty,  decency,  and  wit  are 
immediately  pleasant  to  others.  Cheerfulness  and  self- 
respect  are  immediately  pleasant  to  oneself.1 

Adam  Smith :  Propriety  and  Merit.  —  Adam  Smith's 
theory,  in  which  the  moral-sense  school  reached  the  limit  of 

1  It  may  be  recalled  that  Plato  has  a  somewhat  similar  theory.  Accord- 
ing to  him  all  goodness  and  beauty  is  either  useful  or  pleasant  or  both.  The 
novelty  in  Hume's  view  lies  in  his  recognition  of  the  part  played  by  sympa- 
thetic feeling. 


220    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

its  development,1  is  of  extraordinary  importance,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  its  psychological  basis  is  slight.  For  Smith 
was  a  great  observer  of  human  nature  in  the  large,  even 
though  his  knowledge  of  its  inner  workings  was  defective. 
According  to  him,  our  sentiments  of  approbation  and  of  dis- 
approbation are  of  two  kinds :  those  of  propriety  (and  im- 
propriety) and  those  of  merit  (and  demerit).  (1)  The  senti- 
ment of  propriety  arises  in  us,  in  the  first  instance,  from  a 
feeling  of  sympathy  with  the  motives  that  actuate  the  agent 
whom  we  are  observing.  It  is,  so  to  speak,  a  sense  of  the 
accord  of  feeling  between  us;  and  though  the  sympathetic 
feeling  itself  may  be  painful,  this  sense  of  accord  is  pleasant. 
Thus  a  man  shows  indignation  at  a  gross  insult,  and  we  feel 
a  kindred  indignation.  This  indignation  itself  is  unpleasant. 
But  at  the  same  time  we  feel  a  pleasant  sense  of  being  able 
to  sympathize  with  his  indignation ;  and  this  is  as  much  as 
to  say  that  we  feel  the  propriety  of  his  indignation.  How- 
ever, it  is  to  be  observed,  an  actual  sympathetic  feeling  is 

1  Theory  of  the  Moral  Sentiments  (1759).  It  should  be  observed  that 
Smith  considered  his  theory  radically  different  from  that  of  the  moral-sense 
school,  though  he  recognized  a  certain  kinship  with  Hume,  in  that  Hume  too 
had  used  sympathy  as  the  basis  of  his  explanation.  The  point  is  that  Smith 
denies  that  there  is  any  peculiar  elementary  sentiment  of  approbation  or  dis- 
approbation. "If  we  attend  to  what  we  really  feel  when  upon  different 
occasions  we  either  approve  or  disapprove,  we  shall  find  that  our  emotion 
in  the  one  case  is  often  totally  different  from  that  in  another,  and  that  no 
common  features  can  possibly  be  discovered  between  them.  Thus  the  ap- 
probation with  which  we  view  a  tender,  delicate,  and  humane  sentiment,  is 
quite  different  from  that  with  which  we  are  struck  by  one  that  appears  great, 
daring,  and  magnanimous.  ...  As  the  emotions  of  the  person  whom  we 
approve  of  are,  in  those  two  cases,  quite  opposite  to  one  another,  and  as  our 
approbation  arises  from  sympathy  with  those  opposite  emotions,  what  we 
feel  upon  the  one  occasion  can  have  no  sort  of  resemblance  to  what  we  feel 
upon  the  other."  Smith's  remarks  here  are,  however,  based  upon  any  un- 
fortunate confusion  between  the  sympathetic  emotion  (which,  of  course,  re- 
sembles the  other  man's  emotion)  and  the  sentiment  of  approbation,  which, 
I  according  to  his  theory,  must  be  quite  distinct ;  for  even  though  the  sym- 
(  pathetic  emotion  be  unpleasant,  the  sentiment  of  approbation  is  pleasant. 
1  Smith  is  really  much  closer  to  his  predecessors  than  he  supposed. 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY     221 

not  necessary  as  a  stimulus  to  the  sentiment  of  propriety. 
We  may  not  be  in  the  mood  to  sympathize ;  or  the  lack  of 
sympathy  may  even  be  due  to  permanent  limitations  which 
we  recognize  in  our  own  character.  It  is  enough  if  the  con- 
ditions appear  to  us  to  be  such  that  a  normal  observer  (the 
"  ideal  spectator ")  would  sympathize.  This  normal  ob- 
server is,  of  course,  for  each  man  an  idealization  of  himself. 
Thus  we  all  regard  fortitude,  the  suppression  of  the  signs 
of  grief,  as  a  virtue ;  because  we  are  easily  led  to  sympathize 
when  the  signs  of  emotion  are  slight,  but  are  repelled  when 
they  are  excessive.  Our  sense  of  the  propriety  of  our  own  1 
conduct  is  throughout  dependent  upon  our  conception  of/ 
the  attitude  of  the  ideal  spectator. 

Similarly,  the  sentiment  of  impropriety  is  the  feeling  that 
we,  or  the  ideal  spectator,  cannot  sympathize.  It  is  an  un- 
pleasant sentiment,  as  that  of  propriety  is  pleasant. 

(2)  Our  sentiments  of  merit  and  demerit  are  aroused 
under  conditions  where  we  (or  the  ideal  spectator)  can  sym- 
pathize with  the  gratitude  or  resentment  which  the  agent's 
conduct  may  excite  in  those  affected  by  it ;  not  their  actual 
gratitude  or  resentment  necessarily,  but  their  gratitude  or 
resentment  if  they  should  feel  any.  In  other  words,  a  senti- 
ment of  merit  or  demerit  is  a  feeling  of  the  propriety  of  grati- 
tude or  resentment.  All  of  the  more  important  virtues  and 
vices  fall  under  this  head.  When,  for  example,  we  see  one 
man  assisted  in  his  need  by  another,  we  put  ourselves  in 
imagination  in  the  place  of  him  who  has  been  assisted,  and 
thus  see  his  benefactor  in  the  most  favorable  light;  and 
even  if  the  recipient  of  the  favor  does  not  respond  in  any 
way,  we  as  it  were  respond  in  his  place. 

Adam  Smith's  theory  is  thus,  like  Hume's,  based  upon 
sympathy.  But  there  are  two  great  differences.  According 
to  Hume,  the  sympathy  is  for  the  pleasant  or  unpleasant 
consequences  of  conduct.  According  to  Adam  Smith  it  is 
sympathy  either  for  the  motives  of  the  agent  himself,  or  for 


222    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

the  gratitude  or  resentment  that  may  be  aroused.  Again, 
according  to  Hume,  the  sympathy  is  the  actual  sympathy 
of  the  person  judging.  According  to  Adam  Smith,  it  may 
be  only  the  probable  sympathy  of  the  ideal  spectator. 

The  Weakness  of  Sentimentalism.  —  We  have  given 
these  details,  because  they  serve  to  exhibit  in  striking  fashion 
the  weakness  in  the  sentimental  school  that  led  to  its  ulti- 
mate overthrow.  In  their  descriptive  analysis  of  the  moral 
life,  these  men  had  no  rivals  in  their  time.  But  their  ex- 
planations took  too  much  for  granted;  and  as  time  went 
on  the  assumptions  were  increased.  The  underivable  moral 
sense  was  a  good  deal  to  manage  at  the  outset ;  but  the  more 
and  more  complex  psychological  mechanism  imagined  for 
its  stimulation  was  too  much  for  the  theory  to  carry.  It  is 
therefore  not  surprising  that  even  within  the  lifetime  of 
Hume  and  Adam  Smith  the  drift  of  opinion  set  in  strongly 
in  favor  of  utilitarianism. 

An  Intuitionalist  Criticism.  —  Utilitarianism  we  shall 
shortly  have  to  consider.  Here  we  must  note  an  objection 
of  the  intuitionalists.  The  advocates  of  the  moral  sense 
have  appealed  to  experience  to  show  that  the  approval  and 
disapproval  are  not  a  process  of  reasoning  —  not  the  appli- 
cation of  a  general  rule  to  the  particular  case.  The  con- 
sciousness of  a  rule,  they  say,  is  superfluous.  But,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  is  it  not  rather  the  feelings  that  are  superfluous  ?  Or, 
if  they  be  not  superfluous,  is  it  not  true,  at  any  rate,  that 
they  can  vary  widely  in  quality  and  intensity  without  affect- 
ing the  moral  judgment?  For  let  us  admit  that  we  have 
such  feelings:  that  either  accompanying  our  moral  judg- 
ments or,  perhaps,  even  preceding  them,  there  arises  in  us  a 
spontaneous  sense  of  the  charm  of  virtue  and  of  the  repul- 
siveness  of  vice.  Let  us  admit,  too,  that  these  feelings  have 
a  real  function  in  our  mental  economy.  They  reenf orce  the 
rational  consciousness  of  moral  obligation,  which,  indeed, 
in  most  of  us  is  none  too  powerful.  Still  the  fact  remains 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY    223 

that  moral  judgment  is  one  thing  and  the  accompanying 
feelings  another;  and  that  it  is  by  the  judgment  that  the 
distinction  between  right  and  wrong  is  ultimately  decided. 
The  mistake  that  the  moral-sense  theorists  have  made  is  in 
confusing  the  moral  judgment,  which  is  rational,  with  its 
emotional  accompaniments.  And  as  for  the  analogy  of 
beauty  upon  which  they  lay  so  much  stress,  that  is  indeed 
more  than  an  analogy;  for  the  so-called  moral  feelings  are 
really  (at  least  in  part)  cesthetic  feelings  —  they  are  feelings 
of  the  beauty  or  ugliness  of  human  conduct  and  character.  Now 
it  is  true  that  virtue  is  beautiful  and  that  vice  is  ugly ;  but 
that  does  not  justify  us  in  confusing  virtue  with  the  beauty 
of  virtue,  or  vice  with  the  ugliness  of  vice.1 

IV.   UTILITARIANISM 
1.  The  Utilitarian  Program 

Products,  not  Elements.  —  It  will  be  recalled  that  utili- 
tarianism differs  from  the  two  theories  wThich  we  have  been 
examining,  in  holding  that  the  perception  of  moral  values 
is  not  a  simple  and  original  quality  of  human  nature,  but 
grows  up  in  each  man  from  psychological  elements  of  a  non- 
moral  character.  Conduct  is  morally  good  or  bad,  accord- 
ing as  it  tends  to  increase  or  decrease  the  happiness  of  all 
concerned.  But  we  have  no  native  impulse  that  forces  us 
into  good  conduct,  as  thus  defined ;  and  we  have  no  native 
admiration  or  contempt  for  the  good  or  bad  conduct  that 
falls  under  our  observation.  The  feeling  of  obligation,  the 
feeling  of  approbation  or  disapprobation,  are  products,  not 
elements,  of  our  experience. 

Much  the  same  thing  is  to  be  said  of  the  feeling  of  be- 
nevolence, which,  aside  from  any  sense  of  obligation,  makes 

1  For  Hume's  discussion  of  a  similar  objection  see  Treatise  of  Human 
Nature,  Book  III,  Part  III,  Sect.  1. 


224    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

the  good  man  desire  the  happiness  of  his  fellow  men  inde- 
pendently of  any  consideration  of  his  own  happiness,  even 
when  a  certain  degree  of  self-sacrifice  is  called  for.  Benev- 
olence is  not  by  any  means  a  fiction.  It  is  a  real  charac- 
teristic of  human  nature.  But  it  is  not  natural  in  the  sense 
of  being  original  and  elementary. 

Utilitarianism  vs.  Sentimentalism.  —  The  moral-sense 
theorists  are  substantially  correct  —  the  utilitarians  say  — 
in  their  account  of  the  moral  experience  of  the  man  of  de- 
veloped character.  The  recognition  of  moral  good  and  evil 
is  in  such  a  man  a  matter  of  spontaneous  feeling.  The  pos- 
sibility of  performing  a  benevolent  act  is  at  once  an  impera- 
tive claim  upon  him ;  and  the  perception  of  such  an  act  is 
sufficient  to  arouse  his  approbation.  And  it  may  be  well 
enough  to  label  this  fact  of  his  nature  a  '  moral  sense.'  But 
the  moral  sense,  like  the  benevolence  of  which  it  so  warmly 
approves,  and  indeed  all  the  higher  human  affections  and 
impulses,  is  derived  from  the  mere  desire  for  pleasure  and 
avoidance  of  pain. 

1  How  does  the  Moral  Being  Arise?  —  Thus  is  determined 
the  scientific  program  of  the  utilitarian  school.  Instead  of 
contenting  themselves  with  a  mere  description  of  moral 
experience,  these  men  start  from  certain  very  simple  and 
general  psychological  principles  (which  they  regard  as  suffi- 
ciently established)  and  try  to  account  for  all  the  facts 
in  terms  of  these  principles.  They  try  to  show  how  from 
the  infant,  who  is  not  yet  a  moral  being,  such  a  being 
arises. 

Rationalistic  Method.  —  But,  it  is  to  be  observed,  they 
do  not  go  about  this  by  a  study  of  the  actual  development 
of  morality  in  children.  Child  psychology,  founded  by 
J.  J.  Rousseau  in  his  Emile  (1762),  has  no  influence  upon 
them.  Nor  do  they  take  any  systematic  account  of  the 
historical  development  of  morality  in  the  race.  Their 
theory  is  an  ingenious  logical  construction,  a  reasoning  out 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY    225 

how,  on  the  accepted  principles,  the  origin  of  the  moral 
being  must  take  place. 

The  Assumptions.  —  Let  us,  therefore,  set  down  in  sys- 
tematic order  the  principles  which  utilitarianism  takes  as 
its  starting  point. 

I.  Pleasure  is  the  only  original  object  of  desire,  and  pain 
is  the  only  original  object  of  aversion.1 

II.  The  intensity  of  the  desire  or  aversion  is  determined 
by 'the  intensity  and  duration  of  the  conceived  pleasure  or 
pain,  together  with  its  degree  of  probability  or  certainty,  and 
perhaps  also  its  nearness  or  remoteness  in  time. 

III.  When  we  desire  any  circumstance  A,  and  perceive 
that  a  second  circumstance  B  is  an  efficient  means  of  bringing 
about  A,  we  are  in  so  far  led  to  desire  B.    We  say,  "  in  so 
far,"  because  there  may  be  other  causes  that  tend  to  make  us 
averse  to  B ;  and  in  that  case  our  resultant  attitude  will  be 
the  joint  effect  of  all  the  causes  acting  together.     Similarly 
of  aversion :  if  we  are  averse  to  A,  and  perceive  that  B  tends 
to  produce  A,  we  are  in  so  far  led  to  be  averse  to  B. 

It  follows  that  if  we  think  of  any  future  circumstance  as 
directly  or  indirectly  causing  in  us  pleasure  or  pain,  we  de- 
sire, or  are  averse  to,  this  circumstance  proportionately. 

IV.  When  we  have  come  to  desire  a  circumstance  as  a 
means  to  some  further  end,  this  further  end  tends  to  drop 
out  of  our  attention,  and  eventually  out  of  consciousness; 
so  that  we  then  desire  the  means  '  for  its  own  sake/  as  we 
say.     The  like  is  again  true  of  aversion.     The  stock  illus- 
tration of  this  principle  is  the  miser,  who  has  once  loved 

1  As  regards  the  nature  of  desire  or  aversion,  the  utilitarians  generally 
hold  that  it  is  a  present  feeling  of  pleasure  or  pain  attaching  to  the  idea  of  a 
future  condition  or  event.  Thus  to  desire  the  defeat  of  the  French  forces  is 
to  take  a  present  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  their  defeat  as  occurring.  And 
the  statement,  that  we  naturally  desire  our  own  pleasure,  means  that  we 
are  so  constituted  that  the  idea  of  a  future  pleasure  is  even  now  pleasant  to 
us.  However,  this  theory  has  been  widely  held  outside  the  utilitarian 
school ;  and  we  therefore  do  not  set  it  down  among  their  peculiar  doctrines. 
Q 


226    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

his  gold  for  what  it  will  buy,  but  now  loves  it  so  ardently 
for  its  own  sake  that  he  is  unwilling  to  part  with  it  for 
anything. 

Thus,  while  pleasure  is  the  only  thing  which  we  originally 
desire  for  its  own  sake,  we  are  capable  of  learning  to  love  for 
their  own  sakes  an  indefinite  number  of  sources  of  pleasure. 
It  is  thus  that  we  learn  to  desire,  among  other  things,  the 
happiness  of  our  fellow  men,  or  of  particular  men  whom  we 
love.  It  is  in  this  way,  also,  that  we  develop  our  love  of 
virtue  and  our  detestation  of  vice  —  in  other  words,  our 
moral  sense. 

We  are  now  ready  to  consider  the  utilitarian  account  of 
morality,  which  falls  into  two  parts,  treating  respectively  of 
obligation  and  of  approbation  and  disapprobation. 

2.  Obligation 

Two  Problems.  —  It  is  to  be  explained  how  it  is  that  men 
come  to  feel  obliged  to  act  in  such  a  way  as  to  promote  the 
general  happiness.  Also,  it  is  to  be  shown  that  they  are,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  so  obliged;  and  this  latter  point  may  con- 
veniently be  taken  up  first. 

(1)  Actual  Obligation:  Definition.  —  "  Obligation  is  the 
necessity  of  doing  or  omitting  any  action  in  order  to  be 
happy  "  (Gay).  To  say  that  a  man  is  obliged  to  act  in  a 
given  way,  is  to  say  that  if  he  acts  otherwise  he  must  neces- 
sarily lose  in  the  amount  of  pleasure  he  experiences,  as  com- 
pared with  the  amount  of  pain.  If  we  regard  pleasures  as 
positive  quantities,  and  pains  as  negative,  we  may  say  that 
when  a  man  acts  contrary  to  his  obligation,  the  algebraic  sum 
of  his  pleasures  and  pains  is  diminished. 

Classification  of  Sanctions.  —  The  pleasures  and  pains 
upon  which  obligations  depend  are  called  sanctions.  These 
may  be  classified  as  follows  : 

I.  Natural,  depending  upon  the  causal  connections  of 
natural  events  (as  distinguished  from  the  behavior  of  per- 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY    227 

sonal  beings).     In  this  way  we  are  obliged  to  take  sufficient 
food  and  avoid  poisonous  substances. 

II.  Social,  arising  from  the   approval   and   disapproval, 
gratitude  and  resentment  of  our  fellow  men.     In  this  way 
we  are  obliged  to  defer  to  public  opinion. 

III.  Civil,  resting  upon  the  system  of  rewards  and  pun- 
ishments established  by  the  state.     It  is  thus  that  we  are 
obliged  to  be  law-abiding  citizens. 

IV.  Divine,  resting  upon  the  will  of  God  —  the  rewards  and 
punishments  which  he  will  bestow  upon  men  in  the  hereafter. 

To  these  may  be  added  the  internal  sanction  of  conscience 
itself,  our  satisfaction  or  regret  as  we  survey  our  own  con- 
duct in  retrospect.  But  this,  as  we  shall  see,  is  not  in  origin 
independent  of  the  others. 

Supremacy  of  the  Divine  Sanctions.  —  When  we  examine 
the  four  kinds  of  sanctions,  we  note  at  once  that  the  social 
and  the  civil  sanctions  are  not  certain.  Men  often  deceive 
each  other  successfully,  and  sometimes  even  outwit  the  law. 
These  sanctions,  therefore,  do  not  suffice  to  establish  an 
indubitable  obligation.  And  the  natural  sanctions,  though 
they  are  certain  as  far  as  they  go,  are  altogether  insufficient 
to  determine  how  we  shall  direct  our  conduct.  The  rascal 
and  the  saint  may  equally  observe  the  force  of  gravity  and 
the  boiling  point  of  water. 

Furthermore,  in  comparison  with  the  divine  sanctions, 
the  other  three  classes  are  really  negligible.  For  the  divine 
sanctions  are  absolutely  certain ;  and  since  God  is  omnipotent, 
we  may  be  well  assured  that  the  rewards  and  punishments 
proceeding  from  his  hand  will  far  outweigh  any  earthly  pain 
or  pleasure.  The  divine  sanctions,  therefore,  are  in  them- 
selves sufficient  to  impose  absolute  obligations.  In  all 
things  we  are  obliged  to  do  as  God  wills. 

The  Will  of  God.  —  Now  theologians  have  proved  from 
natural  evidences  (altogether  apart  from  any  supernatural 
revelation)  that  God  is  infinitely  benevolent,  and  that  he  has 


228    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

created  men  with  no  other  purpose  than  to  make  them  as 
happy  as  possible.1  He  must  therefore  prefer  that  men 
should  be  well  disposed  toward  each  other,  acting  harmoni- 
ously for  the  greatest  good  of  all,  rather  than  that  each 
should  work  only  for  his  own  interest,  to  the  neglect  or  detri- 
ment of  the  interests  of  all  others.  That  is  to  say,  it  is 
God's  will  that  we  should  in  all  things  seek  the  greatest 
happiness  of  the  greatest  number  concerned ;  and  hence  we 
ought  so  to  act.  And  because  we  are  all  created  equal  in 
God's  sight,  each  man  should  count  for  one,  and  no  man  for 
more  than  one. 

(2)  The  Feeling  of  Obligation.  —  So  much  for  the  proof 
of  our  actual  obligation.  When  we  turn  to  consider  how  it  is 
that  men  feel  this  obligation,  the  argument  takes  a  somewhat 
different  course.  It  is  to  be  admitted  that  the  vast  majority 
of  men,  by  reason  of  their  ignorance  or  unreflectiveness,  are, 
to  a  large  extent,  unaffected  by  the  divine  sanctions.  Either 
they  have  not  learned  to  expect  a  future  judgment,  or  they 
do  not  consistently  bear  in  mind  the  awful  alternative  that 
awaits  them.  They  are  often  far  more  strongly  moved  by 
their  immediate  hopes  and  fears  than  by  all  that  heaven  or 
hell  can  hold  in  store  for  them.  And  yet  they  are  not  with- 
out feelings  of  moral  obligation.  Hence,  in  explaining  these 
feelings,  we  must  take  into  account  the  operation  of  all  four 
classes  of  sanctions. 

General  Agreement  of  the  Sanctions.  —  We  note,  then, 
that  all  four  classes  are  in  general  agreement.  We  cannot 
do  much  for  our  fellow  men  by  disregarding  the  natural  laws 
upon  which  our  health  and  efficiency  rest.  And,  though  men 
are  often  deceived  as  to  their  interests,  and  though  they  are 
also  often  deceived  as  to  one  another's  intentions,  still,  in 
the  long  run,  the  man  who  is  devoted  to  their  welfare  is 

1  Thus,  while  the  utilitarians  deny  the  existence  of  an  original  benevolence 
in  man,  they  are  ready  to  admit  it  in  God.  This  part  of  their  theory  is 
obviously  a  mere  logical  tour  de  force. 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY     229 

loved,  and  the  man  who  disregards  it  is  treated  with  hatred 
or  indifference.  Similarly,  though  the  laws  of  the  land  some- 
times constrain  men  to  immoral  conduct,  this  is  by  no  means 
the  general  rule.  What  is  forbidden  as  crime  is  generally 
wrong,  though  not  all  that  is  wrong  is  forbidden.  A  state  in 
which  the  laws  were  to  any  considerable  extent  opposed  to  the 
practice  of  morality  could  not  long  escape  dissolution. 

Value  of  the  Lower  Sanctions. — Thus  the  divine  sanctions 
may  be  in  great  measure  replaced  by  the  lower  sanctions  in 
the  formation  of  our  feelings  of  obligation ;  although  with- 
out the  divine  sanctions  these  feelings  must  naturally  be 
less  powerful  and  less  trustworthy.  The  corrective  experi- 
ences of  our  common  earthly  life  suffice  to  impress  us  pretty 
forcibly  with  the  consciousness,  that  if  we  wish  to  be  happy, 
we  must  seek  our  happiness  in  connection  with  the  happiness 
of  our  fellows.  In  producing  this  effect,  the  constant  pres- 
sure of  the  social  sanctions  is  doubtless  the  principal  factor. 
The  fear  of  the  law  does  not,  in  itself,  go  far  toward  making 
a  man  good,  though  it  is  a  valuable  auxiliary. 

Obligation  without  Sanctions.  —  But  the  objection  will  be 
raised :  How  does  this  account  for  the  fact  that  men  may 
still  be  controlled  by  feelings  of  moral  obligation,  when,  to 
all  appearances,  they  are  in  no  danger  from  any  human  re- 
sentment? The  fact  is  that  under  such  circumstances  their 
feelings  of  obligation  are  often  greatly  weakened  —  espe- 
cially if  they  have  no  vivid  sense  of  the  reality  and  power  of 
God  —  and  consequently  they  often  succumb  to  the  tempta- 
tion to  seek  only  their  own  selfish  ends.  When  this  weaken- 
ing does  not  occur,  it  is  because,  through  habitualion,  the 
feelings  of  obligation  have  become  independent  of  their  original 
sanctions.  The  compelling  impulse  to  do  what  is  right  be- 
cause it  is  necessary  for  happiness  has  become  an  impulse  to 
do  right  without  regard  to  any  further  consequences.  The 
end  has  dropped  out  of  mind,  while  the  means  remains  as 
potently  attractive  as  ever. 


230    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Always,  however,  the  divine  sanctions  remain  as  the  com- 
plete rational  justification  of  morality  to  the  reflective  in- 
quirer who  asks  why,  after  all,  he  ought  to  consider  the  wel- 
fare of  his  fellow  men,  whenever  he  finds  himself  so  strong  or 
so  clever  as  to  be  independent  of  their  wishes. 

3.  Approbation  and  Disapprobation 

The  theory  of  approbation  and  disapprobation  is  quite 
as  simple. 

The  Obligation  to  Encourage  Morality.  —  Even  if  action 
for  the  good  of  the  greatest  number  were  not  profitable  to 
the  agent  himself,  it  would  still  be  most  desirable  from  the 
standpoint  of  his  fellows.  To  be  sure,  any  particular  fellow 
might  prefer  to  be  especially  favored  by  everybody  all  the 
time ;  but  that  everybody  should  be  willing  to  do  this  is  so 
exceedingly  improbable  as  to  be  out  of  the  question.  All 
things  considered,  the  happiness  of  each  is  best  assured  by  the 
morality  of  all  the  rest.  By  encouraging  morality  in  each  of 
his  fellows,  therefore,  each  man  is  promoting  the  happiness 
of  all.  He  is  obliged,  therefore  (according  to  the  foregoing 
account  of  obligation),  to  encourage  morality  in  every  man. 

The  Obligation  to  Praise  or  Blame.  —  Now  how  can  he 
do  this  ?  The  only  means  by  which  a  man's  conduct  is  con- 
trolled is  the  expectation  of  pleasure  or  pain  —  until,  through 
association,  other  ends  have  become  directly  attractive.  To 
influence  a  man  to  act  rightly,  one  must,  therefore,  cause 
him  to  expect  pleasure  as  a  consequence  of  right  action,  and 
pain  as  a  consequence  of  wrong  action.  This  may  be  done 
to  some  extent  by  instructing  him  with  regard  to  the  conse- 
quences of  his  acts,  especially  with  regard  to  their  everlasting 
consequences.  The  most  efficient  means,  however,  is  at 
once  to  reward  the  right  act  and  to  punish  the  wrong  —  not 
necessarily  in  the  formal  ways  provided  by  the  state,  for 
these  are  not  always  practicable,  but  at  least  by  expressions 
of  praise  and  blame.  For  praise  is  grateful  to  men,  by  reason 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY     231 

of  the  pleasant  direction  which  it  gives  to  the  imagination ; 
and  blame  is  for  a  similar  reason  unwelcome.  We  ought, 
therefore,  to  praise  any  conspicuous  right  conduct,  and  we 
ought  to  blame  wrong  conduct.  Now  to  recognize  that  any 
conduct  ought  to  be  praised  or  blamed,  is  to  approve  or  disap- 
prove of  it. 

Importance  of  the  Intention.  —  With  this  explanation, 
various  characteristics  of  moral  approbation  and  disappro- 
bation are  easily  understood.  Since  the  object  of  praise  is 
to  encourage,  and  of  blame  to  discourage,  conduct  similar 
to  that  which  is  praised  or  blamed,  it  is  seldom  advantageous 
to  praise  or  blame  unintentional  acts.  We  therefore  —  if 
we  are  reflective  men  —  do  not  feel  that  such  acts  ought  to 
be  praised  or  blamed ;  that  is  to  say,  we  do  not  approve  or 
disapprove  of  them.  It  is  the  intention  that  we  judge.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  feelings  which  prompt  men  to  action 
(the  motive)  matters  not  at  all,  provided  the  intention  is  the 
same.  All  motives,  from  reverence  to  loathing,  are  natural ; 
and  all  have  their  place,  large  or  small,  in  the  economy  of 
human  life.  In  themselves  they  are  neither  good  nor  bad. 
But  any  motive  becomes  good  or  bad  according  as  it  gives 
force  to  a  good  or  evil  intention.1 

Particular  Selfish  Interests  Irrelevant.  —  We  see,  too, 
why  our  approval  or  disapproval  is  unaffected  by  the  way  hi 
which  the  particular  acts  benefit  or  injure  ourselves.  For 
though  (say)  a  particular  right  act  may  hurt  me,  it  is  still  to 
my  advantage  to  encourage  that  sort  of  conduct  in  the 
community. 

Self-approval  and  Disapproval.  —  We  approve  and  dis- 
approve of  our  own  acts,  as  well  as  of  those  of  other  men. 
For  when  we  act  rightly,  we  can  see  that  other  men  ought 
to  praise  our  conduct,  and  when  we  act  wrongly,  we  can  see 
that  they  ought  to  blame  our  conduct  —  even  though,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  they  do  not  do  so. 

1  Cf.  p.  40. 


232    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

The  Moral  Sense.  —  Finally,  the  feelings  of  approbation 
and  disapprobation,  like  the  feeling  of  obligation,  may  be- 
come wholly  detached  from  all  thought  of  the  self-interest 
upon  which  they  are  originally  founded.  We  then  approve, 
or  disapprove,  simply  and  spontaneously,  all  conduct  which 
we  see  to  be  directed  in  accordance  with,  or  contrary  to,  the 
general  welfare.  We  have  developed  a  moral  sense. 

V.  CONCLUDING  REMARKS 

Hedonism  in  the  Three  Schools.  —  Such,  in  outline, 
are  the  three  classical  English  systems  of  ethics.  All  three 
systems,  as  we  remarked  at  the  outset,  take  for  granted  a 
hedonistic  theory  of  values  in  general :  that  pleasure  is  the 
only  ultimate  good,  and  pain  the  only  ultimate  evil.  For 
this  very  reason  it  is  plain  that  hedonism  (in  this  sense)  has 
no  particular  connection  with  any  one  of  the  three.  It  is 
necessary  to  emphasize  this  fact,  because  during  the  nine- 
teenth century  hedonism  came  to  be  peculiarly  associated 
with  the  derivative  theory;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  the 
terms  '  utilitarianism  '  and  '  hedonism  '  are  often  used  as 
precise  equivalents.  The  consequence  is  that  nineteenth- 
century  critics  and  historians,  when  they  noted  the  signs  of 
hedonism  in  the  old  intuitionalists  and  moral-sense  writers, 
set  this  down  to  inconsistency  or  to  mere  carelessness  of 
language. 

What  is  really  peculiar  to  the  utilitarians  is  not  hedonism 
in  the  sense  of  a  general  theory  of  values,  but  their  peculiar 
psychological  hedonism  :  the  theory  that  all  desire  is  origi- 
nally for  pleasure,  and  all  aversion  originally  for  pain,  and  that 
all  new  objects  of  desire  and  aversion  are  related  to  the  old 
as  means  to  end  or  cause  to  effect.  This  theory  is  earnestly 
repudiated  by  the  opponents  of  utilitarianism. 

Resemblance  between  Intuitionalism  and  Utilitarianism. 
—  When  we  compare  the  three  systems  with  each  other,  it 
is  at  once  evident  that  intuitionalism  and  utilitarianism, 


CLASSICAL  SCHOOLS  OF  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY     233 

despite  the  extreme  opposition  between  them,  bear  a  strong 
family  resemblance  to  each  other.  Both  are  neatly  worked- 
out  logical  schemes,  based  upon  a  minimum  of  direct  evi- 
dence. The  moral-sense  theory,  on  the  other  hand,  is  thor- 
oughly empirical  in  its  temper  and  procedure,  departing  as 
little  as  possible  from  the  observation  of  fact.  The  contrast 
may  be  partly  explained  by  the  fact  that  several  influential 
members  of  the  two  first-mentioned  schools  were  theologians, 
while  the  moral-sense  school  was  led  by  men  whose  interests 
were  essentially  scientific.  It  may  be  noted  that  while  the  ex- 
istence of  God  is  an  important  presupposition  of  intuition- 
alism, and  is  absolutely  essential  to  the  utilitarian  scheme,  it 
plays  no  part  in  the  moral-sense  theory. 

Social  Evolution  Overlooked.  —  The  great  weakness  of 
all  three  systems,  from  our  present  point  of  view,  lies  in  the 
universal  neglect  of  the  phenomena  of  social  evolution.  That 
moral  standards  had  suffered  extensive  changes  was  ad- 
mitted by  some,  denied  by  others.  But,  even  when  ad- 
mitted, it  was  not  regarded  from  an  evolutionary  standpoint. 
Even  the  utilitarians,  who  professed  to  give  an  account  of 
the  development  of  the  moral  sense,  limited  this  account  to 
the  individual  consciousness,  and  paid  no  attention  to  the 
means  by  which  sentiments  are  transmitted  from  generation 
to  generation  and  are  progressively  modified  in  the  process. 
On  the  whole,  we  may  say  of  the  ethical  theories  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  that  they  are  individualistic  and  mechanical. 


REFERENCES 

SBLBY-BIGGE,  L.  A.,  British  Moralists:  being  Selections  from  Writers 
principally  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.  These  selections  are 
sufficient  for  the  needs  of  elementary  students ;  but  Hume  and 
Reid  are  not  represented. 

HUME,  D.,  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  Book  III ;  Enquiry  concern- 
ing the  Principles  of  Morals;  A  Dialogue, 


234    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

REID,  T.,  Essays  on  the  Active  Powers  of  Man,  Essay  III,  especially 

Part  III;  Essay  V. 

STEPHEN,  L.,  English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,  Ch.  IX. 
SIDGWICK,  H.,  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  III,  Ch.  XIII. 
SETH,  J.,  Study  of  Ethical  Principles,  Part  I,  Ch.  II. 
MEZES,  S.,  Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  Ch.  III. 
DEWEY  and  TUFTS,  Ethics,  Ch.  XVI,  3,  4. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  AND  GERMAN 
INFLUENCE 

I.  THE  NEW  UTILITARIANISM 

DUBING  the  nineteenth  century  all  three  lines  of  the  clas- 
sical English  thought  persisted ;  but  utilitarianism  came  to 
possess  an  overshadowing  importance.  At  the  same  time, 
however,  it  underwent  certain  decided  modifications  in  its 
structure  and  temper;  so  that  its  new  phase  calls  for  a 
brief  separate  treatment. 

Change  of  Emphasis.  —  Utilitarianism  had  lost  its  theo- 
logical stamp.  It  was  a  theory  of  psychologists  and  of  po- 
litical reformers.  Some  of  its  most  important  adherents, 
including  the  most  distinguished  of  all,  —  John  Stuart  Mill, 
—  did  not  even  believe  hi  the  existence  of  an  omnipotent 
deity.  The  consequence  was  that  less  and  less  emphasis 
came  to  be  placed  upon  the  supernatural  sanctions  of  mo- 
rality, the  rewards  and  punishments  of  a  future  world,  and 
more  upon  the  empirically  observed  sanctions. 

Obligation.  —  But  this  meant  that  the  old  notion  of  ob- 
ligation had  to  be  revised;  for  without  the  assumption  of 
an  overruling  Providence  to  make  all  things  straight,  the 
universal  necessity  of  a  given  sort  of  conduct,  at  all  times, 
in  order  to  be  happy,  could  not  be  proved.  Instead  of  being 
an  external  necessity,  therefore,  obligation  came  to  be  re- 
garded only  as  an  internal  sense  of  compulsion  —  the  feeling 
that  one  cannot  be  satisfied  to  act  except  in  a  certain  way. 
Thus  it  was  admitted  that  right  conduct  might  call  for  real 
and  permanent  self-sacrifice ;  and  utilitarianism  acquired  a 
tone  of  sadness,  if  not  of  pessimism. 

235 


236    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

The  Utilitarian  Standard.  —  What  is  the  standard  of 
morality?  There  is  no  one.  standard.  Every  man  of 
formed  character  has  some  standard,  however  crude,  to 
which  he  feels  himself  bound.  But  what  the  standard  is 
depends  upon  the  circumstances  of  his  upbringing.  The 
utilitarian  standard  —  the  greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest 
number  —  is  one  which  has  been  consciously  accepted  by 
many  men,  and  half  consciously  by  many  more.  When 
other  standards  of  right  and  wrong  are  examined,  it  is  gen- 
erally (perhaps  always)  to  be  found  that  a  regard  for  the 
general  happiness  underlies  them ;  though  it  may  be  a  mis- 
taken regard,  or  a  regard  limited  to  the  members  of  a  re- 
stricted society.  The  utilitarian  standard  may  therefore 
fairly  be  regarded  as  in  some  sort  the  logical  outcome  of  all 
others :  that  to  which  men  of  insight  and  wide  intelligence 
must  naturally  turn. 

Theory  of  Sanctions.  —  What  are  the  sanctions  of  mo- 
rality, the  sources  of  the  sense  of  compulsion  ?  These  are  of 
many  kinds ;  but  they  may  be  divided  into  two  main  classes, 
according  as  they  depend,  or  do  not  depend,  on  the  expected 
attitude  of  other  persons  toward  the  conduct  in  question. 
In  the  first  class  belong  the  social  and  civil  sanctions  of  the 
old  utilitarians,  as  well  as  the  divine  sanctions  (for  all  who 
believe  in  a  God).  In  the  second  class  belongs  the  natural 
sympathy  of  men  for  their  associates  or  for  men  in  general, 
by  reason  of  which  they  are  gratified  at  one  another's  hap- 
piness and  distressed  at  one  another's  pain ;  and  here  also 
belongs  the  love  of  virtue  for  its  own  sake,  which  habit 
builds  up  in  us.  All  these  sanctions  may  attach  to  the  utili- 
tarian standard;  and,  indeed,  it  is  peculiarly  adapted  to 
gain  their  support.  For  conduct  which  is  intended  to  ad- 
vance the  general  happiness  will,  unless  it  be  misunderstood, 
win  the  good  will  of  all  except  some  few  who  may  find  their 
selfish  interests  threatened  by  it ;  and  it  is  only  rarely  that 
such  conduct  can  fall  under  the  disapproval  of  the  law  — 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  237 

especially  under  modern  democratic  conditions.  The  sym- 
pathetic sanction  is,  of  course,  in  favor  of  the  utilitarian 
standard;  and  the  simplicity,  clearness,  and  universal  ap- 
plicability of  this  standard  make  its  incorporation  into  our 
*  second  nature  '  comparatively  easy. 

'  Original  Altruism.'  —  It  is  to  be  noted  that  in  the  nine- 
teenth century  utilitarians  are  no  longer  unanimous  in  in- 
sisting upon  what  was  once  the  cardinal  doctrine  of  the 
school :  that  all  desire  is  originally  for  one's  own  happiness. 
This  is  now  regarded  as  a  debatable  point,  and  some  are 
inclined  to  the  view  that  we  have  an  original  desire  for  the 
happiness  of  our  fellow  men ;  that  is  to  say,  that  the  idea  of 
another's  possible  pleasure  is  naturally  attractive  to  us,  and 
the  idea  of  his  possible  future  pain  naturally  repugnant  to 
us,  altogether  apart  from  any  thought  of  further  conse- 
quences to  ourselves.  This  is  a  rapprochement  with  the  old 
sentimental  school,  and  is  probably  to  be  ascribed  to  the 
continued  influence  of  the  writings  of  David  Hume. 

Mill's  Energism.  —  In  this  radical  transformation  of  the 
old  theory,  John  Stuart  Mill  is  a  leading  figure.  It  should 
be  mentioned  here  that  Mill  himself  gave  up  the  hedonistic 
theory  of  values  that  had  characterized  utilitarianism  (in 
common  with  the  other  eighteenth-century  systems)  in 
favor  of  a  crude  energism,  which  he  abstracted  from  Plato 
and  Aristotle.  He  continues  to  use  the  general  language  of 
hedonism.  The  final  good,  he  says,  is  happiness ;  and  hap- 
piness consists  of  pleasure  with  the  absence  of  pain.  But  he 
explains  that  by  *  pleasure  '  or  '  pain  '  he  means,  not  the 
elementary  affection  of  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness,  but 
the  total  experience  in  which  the  affection  is  felt.  For  ex- 
ample, if  playing  tennis  is  pleasant  to  him,  he  does  not  speak 
of  it  as  a  cause  of  pleasure  but  as  a  pleasure  —  not  as  a  source 
of  happiness,  but  as  a  part  of  happiness.  Furthermore,  he 
declares  that  pleasures  differ  in  quality,  and  that  the  quality 
affects  their  value,  which  is  not  dependent  merely  upon  the 


238    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

amount.  "  Better  to  be  Socrates  dissatisfied  than  a  fool 
satisfied."  How,  then,  is  the  comparative  value  of  two 
kinds  of  pleasure  to  be  determined?  By  the  preferences  of 
those  who  have  experienced  both.  The  fool  knows,  for  the 
most  part,  only  physical  pleasures.  Socrates  knows  these ; 
and  he  also  knows  intellectual  and  moral  pleasure  which  he 
greatly  prefers.  If  the  vast  majority  of  men  of  a  similarly 
broad  experience  agree  with  him,  we  are  warranted  in  rating 
intellectual  and  moral  pleasures  higher  than  physical. 

All  this  has  been  generally  felt  to  be  a  compromise  with 
the  old  enemy,  and  other  utilitarians  have  lent  it  but  little 
support.  On  the  other  hand,  the  essential  feature  of  the 
ancient  energism  —  the  notion  of  a  harmonious  functioning 
of  the  whole  organism  —  is  not  appreciated  by  Mill.  So  that 
as  we  look  back  upon  his  system  it  is  apt  to  strike  us  as  a  very 
promising  —  failure.  There  is  another  reason  for  this  ill 
impression.  Measured  by  our  present  standards  of  what 
explanation  ought  to  be,  the  determination  of  values  by  a 
majority  vote,  even  of  a  select  electorate,  seems  very  weak. 
But  Mill,  like  the  old  utilitarians,  has  little  conception  of 
the  method  or  significance  of  social  evolution;  and  so  he  ac- 
cepts his  majority  as  an  ultimate  fact.  Since  his  time,  neo- 
Hegelianism,  on  the  one  hand,  and  Darwinism,  on  the  other, 
have  made  social-evolutionary  theory  the  central  field  of 
interest  for  ethics. 

II.   KANT 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  center 
of  ethical  speculation  shifted  from  England  to  Germany. 
With  German  ethics  we  shall  not  concern  ourselves  except 
in  so  far  as  their  influence  on  later  English  and  American 
thought  has  made  them  of  peculiar  importance  to  us. .  Accord- 
ingly, we  shall  confine  our  attention  to  Kant,  Fichte,  and 
Hegel. 

Kant's  Undertaking.  —  Kant's  work  in  ethics  is  in  origin 


GERMAN  INFLUENCE  239 

an  attempt  to  rehabilitate  intuitionalism,  and  to  demonstrate 
its  reasonableness  as  against  the  moral-sense  theory  and 
utilitarianism.  He  tries,  in  the  first  place,  to  make  plausible 
the  doctrine  that  we  have  a  consciousness  of  a  universal 
moral  law,1  which  is  not  derived  from  experience;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  to  show  precisely  what  the  moral  law  con- 
tains and  what  its  acceptance  as  authoritative  logically  im- 
plies. In  this  latter  part  of  his  undertaking,  he  comes  to 
results  which  issue  in  the  inauguration  of  a  new  self-realiza- 
tion theory. 

The  Moral  Motive.  —  In  Kant's  view  the  moral  life  con- 
sists of  an  incessant  struggle  between  reason  and  the  inclina- 
tions that  spring  from  the  sense  of  pleasure  and  pain.  What- 
ever reason  freely  determines  itself  to  do  is  right,  and  that 
alone.  .Whatever  inclination  effects  is  at  best  indifferent, 
and  is  wrong  if  it  contradicts  reason.  The  only  moral 
motive  is  reason's  reverence  for  itself  and  for  its  own  com- 
mands. Even  personal  affection  is  no  substitute.  To  serve 
your  friends  because  you  love  them  is  not  virtuous.  It  is 
virtuous  only  to  serve  them  when  and  because  you  ought. 

The  Categorical  Imperative.  —  The  commands  of  reason 
—  the  moral  law  —  take  on  an  indefinite  number  of  partic- 
ular forms  according  to  the  conditions  to  which  they  are 
applied;  but  they  all  spring  from  a  single  principle  which 
is  entirely  independent  of  all  conditions,  and  which  may 
therefore  be  called  the  '  categorical  imperative/  This 
general  principle  is  simply :  Revere  reason.  This  may  seem 

1  We  have  tried  to  keep  this  account  of  the  ethics  of  German  idealism  as 
free  as  possible  from  any  reference  to  the  underlying  philosophical  theories. 
It  may  be  well,  however,  for  us  to  observe  here  that  according  to  Kant  the 
consciousness  of  a  moral  obligation  is  not  knowledge  in  the  strict  sense  of  the 
term,  and  is  thus  not  analogous  to  mathematical  knowledge.  Our  knowl- 
edge, he  declares,  can  never  extend  beyond  the  limits  of  possible  experience ; 
and  whatever  can  be  given  in  experience  is  conditioned.  A  moral  obligation, 
i.e.  an  unconditional  obligation,  cannot,  therefore,  be  known.  It  can  only 
be  accepted.  Moral  obligation  belongs  to  reason,  not  in  its  theoretical 
activity,  but  in  its  practical  activity. 


240    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

to  be  an  empty  tautology,  as  if  it  ran, '  Revere  the  command 
to  revere  reason  ' ;  or,  '  Revere  the  command  to  revere  the 
command  to  revere  .  .  .  /  ad  indefinitum;  and  many 
critics  so  regard  it.  But  Kant,  observing  that  the  commands 
of  reason  are  always  universal)  while  the  solicitations  of 
sense  are  always  particular,  expands  the  statement  of  the 
law  as  follows :  Act  always  so  that  you  can  at  the  same  time 
will  that  the  maxim,  by  which  you  act,  may  be  a  universal  law. 
In  other  words,  act  always  on  principles  that  are  really  uni- 
versal; and  do  not  make  an  exception  of  the  case  in  hand 
on  account  of  the  particular  appeal  to  your  inclinations 
which  it  makes.  Ought  I,  for  example,  to  lie  to  get  myself 
out  of  trouble?  Can  I  wish  that  everybody  would  do  like- 
wise? If  they  tried  to,  all  faith  in  men's  word  would  soon 
be  gone,  and  so  lying  would  be  impracticable.  Such  a  wish, 
therefore,  contradicts  itself ;  and  hence  my  excuse  for  lying 
is  invalid.  This,  says  Kant,  is  precisely  the  test  which  all 
good  men  are  forever  applying :  "  What  if  everybody  did 
the  same  ?  " 

Virtue  and  Pleasure.  —  Kant's  ethics  is  exceedingly  aus- 
tere, as  austere  in  its  way  as  that  of  the  stoics.  In  one  re- 
spect, however,  his  doctrine  is  milder  than  theirs.  He  does 
not,  like  them,  maintain  that  virtue  is  the  only  good,  and 
that  the  addition  of  all  other  so-called  goods  cannot  swell 
its  value.  He  does  hold  that  virtue  is  the  only  uncondi- 
tional good,  and  that  pleasure  is  only  good  when  it  is  the 
pleasure  of  the  good  man.  But  he  admits  that  the  virtu- 
ous man  who  is  enjoying  every  pleasure  is  better  off  than 
the  virtuous  man  who  drags  out  an  existence  of  privation 
and  pain.  For  man  is  not  simply  a  rational  being,  but  a 
sensuous  being  as  well;  and  though  the  demands  of  his 
sensuous  nature  should  be  subordinated,  they  cannot  be 
altogether  silenced.  Nevertheless  the  fact  that  this  eminent 
thinker  ascribed  to  morality  a  value  independent  of  pleasure 
and  pain  impressed  powerfully  many  English  readers  who 


GERMAN  INFLUENCE  241 

had  been  brought  up  on  the  unsatisfactory  hedonism  that 
prevailed  in  their  own  country.1 

The  Future  Life.  —  Kant  connects  morality  with  the 
belief  in  immortality  and  in  future  reward  and  punishment 
in  a  manner  analogous  to  that  of  the  English  intuitionalists.2 
His  argument  is  substantially  as  follows  (though  involved 
in  many  complications).  There  can  be  no  obligation  where 
there  is  not  liberty  to  comply.3  The  moral  law  commands 
us  to  be  perfect ;  therefore  it  must  be  possible  for  us  to  be 
perfect.  But  the  universal  experience  of  mankind  shows 
that  we  cannot  be  perfect.  Any  man  who  claimed  to  be  so 
would  at  once  be  branded  as  a  fool  or  a  liar.  How  can  this 
contradiction  be  resolved?  It  can  be  resolved  only  if  it  is 
possible  for  us,  despite  the  weakness  of  our  sensuous  nature, 
to  become  perfect  through  an  everlasting  process  of  approxima- 
tion. But  for  this  we  must  be  immortal.  And  since  the 
process  of  our  perfecting  must  go  on  in  time,  and  must  take 
place  under  natural  conditions,  the  carrying-out  of  the  proc- 
ess can  only  be  assured  if  there  exists  a  Moral  Governor  of 
the  universe.  Finally,  although  the  moral  law  is  unaffected 
by  human  inclinations,  still  we  cannot  think  it  right  that, 
in  the  long  run,  the  good  man  should  suffer  and  the  bad  man 

1  Thus  Carlyle  exclaims  over  Schiller's  Kantian  essays  :  "Whoever  reads 
these  treatises  of  Schiller  with  attention  will  perceive  that  they  depend  on 
principles  of  an  immensely  higher  and  more  complex  character  than  our 
'Essays  on  Taste,'  and  our  'Inquiries  concerning  the  Freedom  of  the  Will.' 
The  laws  of  criticism,  which  it  is  their  purpose  to  establish,  are  derived  from 
the  inmost  nature  of  man ;  the  scheme  of  morality,  which  they  inculcate, 
soars  into  a  brighter  region,  very  far  beyond  the  ken  of  our  '  Utilities'  and 
'Reflex-senses.'  They  do  not  teach  us  'to  judge  of  poetry  and  art  as  we 
judge  of  dinner,'  merely  by  observing  the  impressions  it  produced  in  us ; 
and  they  do  derive  the  duties  and  chief  end  of  man  from  other  grounds  than 
the  philosophy  of  Profit  and  Loss"  (Life  of  Schiller,  Part  III). 

1  There  is  a  difference  due  to  the  fact  that  he  holds  that  the  existence  of 
God  and  the  immortality  of  the  soul  life  outside  the  field  of  possible  knowl- 
edge. He  does,  however,  maintain  that  the  belief  in  God  and  in  immortality 
is  implied  in  the  acceptance  of  any  moral  obligation. 

»  Of.  p.  65. 
B 


242    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

prosper.    And  hence  we  must  expect  the  inequalities   of 
the  present  life  to  disappear  in  the  future. 

III.    FICHTE 

The  Everlasting  Struggle.  —  Fichte,  like  Kant,  looks  upon 
the  moral  life  as  an  everlasting  struggle  with  sensuous  in- 
clination, in  which  we  gradually  approach  an  indefinitely 
distant  ideal  —  the  completed  self  (das  absolute  Ich).  In- 
deed, he  goes  so  far  as  to  claim  that  that  is  the  only  value 
pleasure  and  pain  have,  the  value  of  something  to  struggle 
against.  To  live  rightly  is  to  keep  up  the  struggle.  Every 
accomplishment  institutes  a  new  challenge  to  further  en- 
deavor. To  live  wrongly  is  to  give  up  the  struggle,  to  con- 
sent to  be  comfortable  —  in  a  word,  to  be  lazy.  All  vice  is, 
at  bottom,  laziness.  On  the  other  hand,  a  perfect  moral 
being,  that  had  no  longer  to  struggle,  would  for  that  very 
reason  cease  to  be.  Fichte,  therefore,  does  not  believe  in 
the  existence  of  a  God.  God  is,  for  him,  an  ideal  eternally 
in  the  making,  not  a  present  entity. 

The  Vocation.  —  Fichte  emphasizes,  as  Kant  does  not,  the 
fact  that  man's  moral  life,  in  which  his  only  true  good  con- 
sists, is  essentially  a  social  life  —  the  fulfilling  of  a  vocation, 
to  which  his  actual  relations  with  the  society  in  which  he 
lives  call  him.  He  is  one  of  the  first  of  modern  philosophers 
to  appreciate  the  ethical  significance  of  marriage  and  the 
family:  to  realize  that  marriage  is  not  a  mere  device  for 
perpetuating  the  race  and  providing  the  state  with  citi- 
zens, but  an  all-important  condition  of  ethical  development 
and  activity.  And  his  further  studies  made  him  see  that 
the  like  is  true  of  the  state :  that  the  state  is  not  merely  an 
organization  to  provide  for  the  common  defense  and  to  sup- 
press internal  disorder,  but  the  sphere  of  tremendously 
important  human  activities.  (Fichte  was  himself  a  patriot, 
one  of  the  foremost  spirits  in  the  rehabilitation  of  Germany 
after  the  conquest  by  Napoleon.)  Moreover,  the  state,  too, 


GERMAN  INFLUENCE  243 

has  its  vocation  in  forwarding  the  progress  of  humanity 
as  a  whole.  For  the  ultimate  ideal  toward  which  all  history 
moves  —  Fichte's  God-in-the-making  —  is  a  moral  order 
which  embraces  all  humanity  in  one  common  life. 

Influence  in  England.  —  The  moral  philosophy  of  Kant 
and  Fichte  influenced  English  thought  less  through  the  writ- 
ings of  professional  ethicists  than  through  the  essays  of  such 
popular  leaders  as  Thomas  Carlyle,  who  found  in  the  German 
rigorism  an  inspiration  for  their  preaching.  The  traditional 
English  hedonism,  which  found  the  good  of  man  to  consist 
in  bits  of  pleasure  no  different  qualitatively  from  those  which 
the  hog  enjoys  in  his  sty,  seemed  to  them  by  contrast  a 
'  swine  philosophy.' 

IV.  HEGEL 

Relation  to  Fichte.  —  But  it  was  with  the  invasion  of 
England  and  America  by  the  Hegelian  philosophy  (which 
took  place  in  the  last  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century) 
that  hedonism  was  first  seriously  weakened  in  its  hold 
on  English  ethical  thought.  Hegel's  system  is  a  genial 
toning-down  of  Fichte's,  under  the  influence  of  Plato  and, 
especially,  of  Aristotle.  Hegel,  too,  finds  man's  true  good 
in  a  self-development  which  consists  in  a  larger  and  larger 
entering  into  the  life  of  society  —  the  life  of  the  family,  of 
competitive  industry,  and  of  the  state,  and  ultimately  of 
the  society  of  states  which  constitutes  humanity.  The  dif- 
ference between  right  and  wrong  cannot  be  reduced  to  any 
intuitively  known  formulae,  or  felt  by  an  inborn  moral  sense. 
It  is  the  difference  between  performing  one's  part  and  not 
performing  it,  amid  the  actual  social  conditions  and  institu- 
tions that  exist.  What  that  part  is  can  only  be  learned  from 
society  itself,  by  becoming  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  term 
a  citizen. 

Moral  Development. — Hegel's  great  difference  from  Fichte 
is  that  he  does  not  conceive  of  the  process  of  development  as 


244    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

essentially  a  struggle,  though  he  is  free  to  admit  that  strug- 
gle is  constantly  involved  in  it.  For  that  against  which  we 
struggle  is  nothing  alien  or  hostile  to  us.  It  is  the  narrow- 
ness of  our  own  undeveloped  nature.  And  in  the  process 
of  development  we  do  not  set  our  old  self  aside  —  we  do  not 
even  cease  to  be  an  animal  in  becoming  a  man  —  we  pre- 
serve the  old  nature  as  a  part,  though  only  a  part,  of  the  new. 
Pleasure  and  pain,  for  example,  are  not  to  be  contemned. 
They  are  for  the  lower  life  of  feeling  what  the  appreciation 
of  good  and  evil  is  for  the  higher  life  of  reason;  and  the 
higher  life  does  not  put  an  end  to  the  lower.  We  often  have 
to  disregard  particular  pleasures  and  pains  for  the  sake  of 
more  concrete  interests ;  in  fact  no  moral  development  can 
take  place  without  many  such  a  clash.  And  in  that  case 
the  suppressed  feelings  appear  to  us  as  enemies.  But  we 
still  continue  regularly  to  find  pleasure  in  good  things  and 
pain  in  evil  things. 

The  Life  of  Humanity.  —  Hegel  has  a  more  positive  view, 
too,  of  the  social  life  in  which  the  goods  of  humanity  consist. 
For  Fichte,  morality  was  a  struggle  for  the  struggle's  sake. 
For  Hegel,  it  is  the  entering  into  the  great  inheritance  of 
civilization  —  art,  religion,  and  philosophy.  Hegel,  like 
Aristotle,  finds  man's  supreme  happiness  in  the  contemplation 
of  eternal  truth.  Only  he  does  not  think  of  this  as  a  personal 
matter.  It  belongs  to  the  life  of  humanity,  in  which  the 
individual  has  but  a  passing  share.  It  is  significant  that 
whereas  Fichte  speaks  of  his  God  (the  perfect  moral  order) 
as  an  ideal  whose  existence  would  be  a  self-contradiction, 
Hegel  thinks  of  his  God  (the  developing  reason  of  humanity) 
as  existing  eternally,  though  at  any  one  time  exhibiting  him- 
self in  but  one  stage  of  his  continual  unfolding. 

The  '  Neo-Hegelians.'  —  This  moral  theory,  with  the 
larger  metaphysical  system  in  which  it  was  contained,  was 
carried  over  into  the  English-speaking  world  by  a  band  of 
veritable  apostles  —  men  who  were  burningly  convinced  of 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  245 

the  essential  truth  of  its  doctrines,  and  filled  with  pity  or 
contempt  for  all  who  could  continue  to  think  along  the  tra- 
ditional English  lines.  The  success  of  their  endeavors  was 
most  rapid.  By  the  end  of  the  century  almost  all  the  prin- 
cipal chairs  of  philosophy  in  Great  Britain  and  America 
were  filled  by  Hegelians.  At  the  present  time,  though  a 
strong  tide  of  opposition  to  Hegelianism  has  arisen,  the 
ablest  critics  recognize  that  there  is  much  in  the  system,  per- 
haps especially  in  its  ethical  doctrines,  that  is  of  permanent 
importance  for  science. 

V.  THE  ENGLISH  CONTROVERSIES 

Subject  of  the  Following  Chapter.  —  In  the  ethical  con- 
troversies of  the  last  quarter  of  the  century,  the  two  chief 
points  at  issue  were  (1)  the  significance  for  ethics  of  the  Dar- 
winian theory  of  evolution  (which  is  discussed  in  Chapter 
XVII)  and  (2)  the  hedonism  which  the  utilitarian  school 
still  maintained  as  they  received  it  from  their  eighteenth- 
century  forbears,  and  which  the  Hegelians  contemptuously 
repudiated.  In  the  long  controversy  which  raged  over  this 
latter  point,  a  multitude  of  considerations  were  presented 
on  both  sides,  in  part  repeated  from  ancient  writers,  in  part 
new.  The  following  chapter  is  intended  to  afford  a  general 
survey  of  the  chief  arguments. 

Its  Importance.  —  Such  a  survey  cannot  now  claim  the 
same  interest  that  might  have  belonged  to  it  fifteen  or  twenty 
years  ago.  Hedonism  in  all  its  forms  is  dead  —  for  the  pres- 
ent; though  past  experience  may  lead  us  to  expect  for  it 
many  another  rebirth.  But  even  if  it  were  dead  for  good  and 
all,  it  would  still  deserve  our  careful  attention,  for  the  reason 
that  the  ethical  science  of  to-day  never  could  have  been 
what  it  is  if  it  had  not  been  for  hedonism ;  and  many  of  its 
chief  doctrines  can  hardly  be  understood  save  in  contrast 
to  the  hedonistic  formulae  which  they  have  replaced.  A 
thorough  discussion  of  hedonism  is  therefore  of  prime  im- 


246    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

portance  as  an  introduction  to  the  direct  presentation  of 
theory  which  occupies  the  last  part  of  this  volume. 

REFERENCES 

KANT,  I.,  Fundamental  Principles  of  the  Metaphysic  of  Morals; 
Critique  of  Practical  Reason;  both  translated  in  Abbott's  Kant's 
Theory  of  Ethics.  The  selections  contained  in  Watson's  Philos- 
ophy of  Kant  are  a  sufficient  reference  for  beginners. 

FICHTB,  J.  G.,  Vocation  of  Man  (in  Popular  Works  of  Johann  Gottlieb 
Fichte,  translated  by  Wm.  Smith,  Vol.  I),  Part  HI,  especially 
pp.  447  ff. 

HEGEL,  G.  W.  F.,  Philosophy  of  Right;  best  studied  by  the  beginner 
in  G.  Morris's  exposition,  Hegel's  Philosophy  of  the  State  and 
of  History. 

MILL,  J.  S.,  Utilitarianism. 

SIDGWICK,  H.,  Methods  of  Ethics. 

SPENCER,  H.,  Data  of  Ethics  (Part  I  of  Principles  of  Ethics). 

STEPHEN,  L.,  Science  of  Ethics. 

HUXLEY,  T.  H.,  Evolution  and  Ethics,  first  two  essays. 

GREEN,  T.  H.,  Prolegomena  to  Ethics.  The  essential  doctrines  are 
best  studied  by  the  beginner  in  Muirhead's  excellent  text-book, 
Elements  of  Ethics,  which  is  entirely  in  Green's  spirit. 

BRADLEY,  F.,  Ethical  Studies. 

SORLEY,  W.  R.,  The  Ethics  of  Naturalism;  and  Recent  Tendencies  in 
Ethics. 

PRINGLE-PATTISON,  A.  SETH,  Man's  Place  in  the  Cosmos. 

DEWEY  and  TUFTS,  Ethics,  Chs.  XVI,  1,  2,  XVII,  1,  2. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY 
I.  THE  KINDS  OF  HEDONISM 

IN  an  earlier  connection  we  have  briefly  explained  the 
various  senses  in  which  the  term  '  hedonism  '  (or  its  equiv- 
alent, '  the  pleasure-theory ')  is  used.  Here  it  may  be 
convenient  to  repeat  this  explanation  more  at  length.1 

(1)  Theory  of  Values.  —  As  we  well  know,  one  of  the 
primary  problems  of  ethics  is  to  determine  what  the  dis- 
tinction between  good  and  evil  means ;  where  '  good  '  and 
'  evil '  are  understood  to  be  applicable  to  any  sort  of  thing 
or  circumstance  that  can  interest  us  in  any  way.  An  answer 
to  this  problem  is  a  general  theory  of  values.  Such  a  theory 
must  be  applicable  hi  every  particular  field  where  values  of 

1  The  following  outline  may  assist  the  student  in  threading  his  way 
through  a  tangled  mass  of  distinctions  : 

A  general  theory  of  values : 


Hedonism 


Theories  as  to  the  objects 
of  desire  and  aversion 


good  =  pleasant,  evil  =  painful. 
The  selfish  theory :   all   desire   is 

really  for  pleasure,  all  aversion 

for  pain. 
The  theory  of  original  selfishness. 


Ethical  hedonism :  theories 
of  moral  values 


Egoistic  hedonism :  right  conduct 
means  conduct  that  is  most  con- 
ducive to  the  pleasure  of  the 
agent. 

Universalistic  hedonism :  right 
conduct  means  conduct  that  is 
most  conducive  to  the  pleasure 
of  all  concerned. 

The  student  should  observe  that  in  the  discussion  which  begins  on  p.  252 
the  two  theories  of  desire  and  aversion  are  first  considered. 

247 


248    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

any  sort  are  recognized.  It  must  hold  equally  of  the  vir- 
tuous and  the  vicious,  the  well-bred  and  the  ill-bred,  the 
beautiful  and  the  ugly,  the  cheap  and  the  dear,  and  so  forth 
and  so  on. 

One  such  general  theory  of  values  is  hedonism.  Put  into 
few  words  it  is  the  theory  that  '  good  '  and  '  pleasant/ 
'  evil '  and  '  unpleasant '  are  the  same.  Set  forth  in  a  formal, 
systematic  fashion,  it  embraces  the  following  points. 

1.  A  thing  may  conceivably  be  good  or  evil  either  in  itself 
or  as  a  cause  of  something  else  that  is  good  or  evil.     We  are 
familiar  with  things  that  are  good  or  evil  in  the  latter  way. 
Corn  is  good  to  nourish  our  bodies ;  weeds  are  evil  because 
they  destroy  the  corn,  or  necessitate  labor.     But  if  nothing 
were  good  or  evil  in  itself,  nothing  could  be  good  or  evil  as 
a  cause.    There  must,  therefore,  be  an  ultimate  good  and 
evil. 

2.  The  ultimate  good  is  pleasure;    the  ultimate   evil  is 
pain.     Pleasure  and  pain  are  simple  (unanalyzable)  feelings, 
which  we  cannot  define  or  describe,  but  with  which  we  are 
all  perfectly  familiar.     Every  feeling  of  pleasure  is   good, 
every  feeling  of  pain  is  evil,  in  itself,  to  him  who  feels  it, 
independently  of  every  other  fact  in  the  universe.     Pleasure, 
with  the  absence  of  pain,  is  called  '  happiness  ' ;  pain,  with 
the  absence  of  pleasure,  is  called  '  misery/ 

3.  Pleasures  are  all  alike  in  quality.     They  differ  from 
each  other  only  quantitatively  (i.e.  in  intensity  and  dura- 
tion) and  in  '  purity  '  (i.e.  in  freedom  from  admixture  with 
pain).     The  like  is  true  of  pains.     Possible  pleasures  and 
pains  differ  also  in  their  degree  of  probability. 

4.  The  amount  of  a  pleasure  or  pain  is  the  product  of  its 
duration  and  its  average  intensity.     Pleasures  and  pains 
may  be  added  to  each  other  algebraically,  the  pains  counting 
as  negative  pleasures.     A  sum  of  pleasures  and  pains  is 
good  or  evil  according  as  pleasure  or  pain  predominates. 

5.  Everything  that  tends  to  produce  pleasure  is  so  far 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  249 

good ;  everything  that  tends  to  produce  pain  is  so  far  evil ; 
that  is,  good  or  evil  to  him  who  may  experience  the  pleasure 
or  pain.  It  is  good  or  evil,  on  the  whole,  according  as  it 
tends  to  produce  more  pleasure  or  more  pain. 

When  it  is  thus  set  forth  in  detail,  the  hedonistic  theory 
of  values  shows  itself  to  be  not  quite  so  simple  as  might  at 
first  be  supposed.  Still  it  is  at  least  as  simple  as  any  rival 
theory,  and  this  has  been  a  strong  point  in  its  favor.  For, 
other  things  being  equal,  scientific  men  are  always  disposed 
to  prefer  the  simpler  of  two  alternative  modes  of  explanation. 

When  we  look  to  see  the  evidence  that  is  offered  for  this 
theory,  we  frequently  find  none  at  all.  It  is  advanced  as  if  it 
were  self-evident,  or  as  if  a  slight  examination  of  our  habit- 
ual use  of  terms  were  sufficient  to  prove  it ;  and  those  who 
deny  it  are  regarded  as  if  they  were  the  victims  of  a  stupid 
prejudice.  Sometimes,  however,  a  proof  is  given ;  and  then 
it  is  almost  always  based  on  some  theory  of  desire ;  that  is 
to  say,  more  precisely,  some  theory  with  regard  to  the  sorts 
of  objects  which  excite  desire  and  aversion  in  men  and  other 
animate  beings.  Two  such  theories  must  now  be  distin- 
guished. 

(2)  Theories  of  Desire.  —  A  theory  of  values  (such  as  we 
have  been  considering)  is  a  theory  as  to  what  ought  to  be 
desired.  We  have  now  to  deal  with  theories  as  to  what  men 
actually  do  desire.  This  is,  of  course,  a  very  different  ques- 
tion, since  we  often  desire  things  that  turn  out  to  be  unde- 
sirable ;  and  a  theory  of  desire  must  explain  this  phenom- 
enon just  as  well  as  it  explains  desires  for  things  that  are 
actually  good. 

The  Selfish  Theory.  —  The  theory  of  desire  most  widely 
held  by  hedonists  in  ancient  times  was  this:  that  in  all 
desire  the  ultimate  object  is  the  agent's  own  pleasure,  in  all 
aversion  the  ultimate  object  is  his  pain ;  and  that  whatever 
else  may  be  desired  is  viewed  as  a  means  of  getting  pleasure 
and  avoiding  pain  —  whatever  else  is  avoided  is  viewed  as 


250    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

an  obstacle  to  pleasure  or  as  a  source  of  pain.  When  we 
desire  what  turns  out  to  be  unpleasant,  or  are  averse  to  a 
real  source  of  pleasure,  that  is  due  to  ignorance. 

This  theory  is  called  '  psychological  hedonism/ l  the 
'  selfish  theory,'  or  the  '  theory  of  universal  selfishness/ 

It  is  easy  to  see  why,  if  the  selfish  theory  be  true,  the 
hedonistic  theory  of  values  follows  from  it.  If  pleasure  is 
the  only  object  that  can  ever  be  desired  for  its  own  sake,  it 
is  folly  to  say  that  anything  else  ought  to  be  so  desired. 
There  is  no  sense  in  quarreling  with  a  universal  law  of  nature. 
One  might  as  well  say  that  2  +  2  ought  to  be  5.  And  as 
for  secondary  goods  —  would  it  not  be  absurd  to  hold  that 
something  which  we  only  desire  through  ignorance  of  its 
true  effects  is  good?  No  moralist  has  ever  defended  such 
an  absurdity. 

However,  as  we  shall  see,  there  are  reasons  for  doubting 
the  truth  of  the  selfish  theory,  which  do  not  directly  affect 
the  hedonistic  theory  of  values ;  and  in  modern  times  the 
former  has  been  very  generally  displaced  among  hedonists 
by  an  alternative  theory. 

Original  Selfishness.  —  This  second  theory  of  desire  is 
called  the  '  theory  of  original  selfishness.'  It  may  be  out- 
lined as  follows : 

It  is  not  indeed  true  that  in  all  our  desires  and  aversions 
pleasure  and  pain  are  the  ultimate  object.  We  desire 
things  and  relations  of  many  sorts  without  a  thought  as  to 
their  future  effects  upon  our  own  feelings.  For  example, 
we  can  desire  the  happiness  of  a  friend  as  an  end  in  itself, 
beyond  which  our  hopes  do  not  reach.  But  this  is  an  effect 
of  habit.  Originally  we  desire  only  our  own  pleasure  and 
are  averse  only  to  our  own  pain.  Then  we  desire,  or  are 
averse  to,  the  things  which  we  find  bring  us  pleasure  or  pain. 
And,  finally,  with  the  repetition  of  the  experience,  the  end 

1  This  term  is  also  used  in  a  wider  sense,  so  as  to  include  the  theory  of 
original  selfishness,  mentioned  below. 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  251 

drops  out  of  our  minds,  and  what  was  formerly  a  means 
becomes  an  end  in  itself.  We  at  first  love  our  friends  (i.e. 
desire  their  happiness)  for  what  they  are  worth  to  us ;  but 
with  time  we  learn  to  love  them  whole-heartedly  for  them- 
selves.1 

(3)  Theories  of  Moral  Values.  —  So  much  for  the  hedo- 
nistic theory  of  values  and  its  psychological  supports.  We 
must  now  take  account  of  hedonism  as  a  theory  of  moral 
values  — '  ethical  hedonism/  as  we  may  call  it.  This  is 
the  application  to  moral  values  in  particular,  of  the  hedo- 
nistic theory  of  values  in  general.  Character  and  conduct, 
like  everything  else  (it  is  said),  are  good  or  evil  according  to 
their  tendencies  to  produce  pleasure  or  pain. 

Egoistic  and  Universalistic  Hedonism.  —  There  are  two 
particular  forms  which  the  hedonistic  theory  of  moral  values 
has  taken.  According  to  the  one,  when  we  speak  of  conduct 
as  right  or  wrong,  good  or  bad,  we  are  referring  to  its  value 
to  the  agent.  According  to  the  other,  we  are  referring  to  its 
value  to  all  who  are  affected  by  it.  According  to  the  former, 
the  right  thing  for  any  man  to  do  under  any  circumstances 
means  the  thing  that  will  (barring  unpredictable  accidents) 
bring  the  greatest  balance  of  pleasure  to  him.  According 
to  the  latter,  the  right  thing  means  that  which  will  bring 
the  greatest  balance  of  pleasure  to  the  group  of  persons  con- 
cerned. The  two  forms  of  ethical  hedonism  are  called 
'  egoistic  hedonism  '  and  '  universalistic  hedonism  '  (or 
'  utilitarianism  '),  respectively.  Roughly  speaking,  the  for- 
mer is  the  ancient,  the  latter  the  modern  form  of  the  theory. 

The  distinction  between  egoistic  and  universalistic  hedon- 
ism is  a  little  complicated  by  the  fact  that  many  hedonists 
(especially  in  modern  times)  have  held  that  the  conduct 
which  is  best  for  the  agent  and  the  conduct  which  is  best 
for  all  concerned  are  always  the  same.  (In  fact,  the  attempted 
proof  of  this  identity  has  been  an  important  part  of  modem 

» Cf .  p.  225. 


252    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

hedonistic  theories.)  In  such  a  case  it  is  sometimes  difficult 
to  classify  the  thinker  one  way  or  the  other.  A  few  recent 
hedonists  have  held  that  conduct  to  be  right  must  be  best 
for  the  agent  and  also  best  for  all  concerned.  They  are  thus 
egoistic  and  universalistic  at  once. 

We  shall  discuss  the  various  hedonistic  theories  in  the 
above  order,  except  that  we  shall  place  first  the  two  theories 
of  desire :  the  selfish  theory  and  the  theory  of  original  sel- 
fishness. 

II.  THE  SELFISH  THEOBY 

Its  Plausibility.  —  The  theory  of  universal  selfishness  is  a 
typical  piece  of  worldly  wisdom  —  the  sort  of  thing  with 
which  the  disillusioned  man  of  mature  years  damps  the  ar- 
dor of  the  romantic  young  enthusiast.  In  modern  times  this 
has  been  its  chief  significance,  as  few  ethicists  of  any  note 
have  subscribed  to  it.  However,  it  is  exceedingly  plausible, 
—  it  explains  so  many  things  so  easily,  —  and  the  holder  of 
it  can  flatter  himself  that  he  takes  a  cool  and  unprejudiced 
view  of  human  nature,  his  own  included. 

Not  Immoral.  —  To  hold  such  a  theory  is  no  sign  of  wicked- 
ness or  hardness  of  heart.  The  worst  that  its  opponents 
can  say  of  it  is  that  it  indicates  a  certain  narrowness  of  mind 
or  an  inability  to  introspect  clearly.  The  psychological 
hedonists  have  often  been  men  of  conspicuous  generosity  — 
constant  friends,  devoted  philanthropists,  and  sturdy  patriots. 
They  have  almost  never  thought  of  denying  that  love  and 
benevolence  exist,  or  of  declaring  that  all  pretensions  to 
them  are  mere  hypocrisy.  They  simply  declare  that  if 
all  these  so-called  '  unselfish  '  feelings  be  analyzed,  they  will 
be  found  to  be  nothing  else  than  desire  for  various  objects 
for  the  sake  of  one's  own  pleasure.  The  ultimate  aim  of  all 
men  is  alike.  They  simply  seek  it  in  different  directions. 

Difference  of  Tastes.  —  According  to  this  theory,  then, 
if  we  wish  for  money  or  food  or  dress  or  books  or  music  or 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  253 

love  or  virtue,  we  are,  perhaps  unknown  to  ourselves,  really 
desiring  the  pleasure  (or  escape  from  pain)  which  the  par- 
ticular object  brings.  Men  are,  of  course,  of  many  different 
types.  They  inherit  different  tastes  or  capacities  for  pleas- 
ure ;  and  education  magnifies  these  differences  still  further. 
It  is  to  this  that  their  differences  of  conduct  are  due.  Each 
seeks  his  pleasure  where  he  expects  to  find  it.  In  fact,  to 
desire  a  thing  and  to  expect  pleasure  from  it,  to  feel  aversion 
for  a  thing  and  to  expect  pain  from  it,  are  psychologically 
identical.  Sympathy  is  no  exception.  Grant  that  there 
are  sympathetic  pains  and  pleasures,  which  we  feel  at  wit- 
nessing the  experiences  of  others,  especially  those  whom  we 
love.  We  cannot  get  outside  our  own  minds.  The  pains 
and  pleasures  which  we  feel  are  ours,  not  theirs ;  and  when 
we  wish  them  to  be  happy,  that  is  only  because  this  will 
give  us  happiness.  Benevolence  simply  indicates  a  capacity 
for  deriving  pleasure  from  a  certain  class  of  objects,  and  is 
at  bottom  no  more  disinterested  than  gluttony.  The  reason 
that  the  term  '  selfishness '  has  an  evil  sound  to  us  is  that 
it  is  commonly  taken  to  denote  either  lack  of  sympathy  or 
lack  of  the  foresight  that  would  show  how  one's  own  interests 
and  those  of  other  men  are  bound  up  together.  But,  strictly 
speaking,  the  broadest  mind  and  the  broadest  heart  only 
go  to  make  up  an  enlightened  selfishness;  and  that  is  all  that 
moral  goodness  means. 

Proof  of  the  Theory.  —  If  the  psychological  hedonist  is 
asked  to  prove  his  doctrine,  he  may  simply  appeal  to  the 
general  experience  of  his  questioner  for  confirmation;  or 
he  may  put  an  imaginary  test  case  as  follows  :  If  we  consider 
anything  whatever,  which  we  are  intensely  desirous  to  have 
or  to  keep  —  fame,  virtue,  a  place  in  heaven,  or  what  you 
will  —  and  then  imagine  that  we  are  never  to  have  the  slight- 
est pleasure  from  it,  does  not  our  attitude  toward  it  lapse 
into  utter  indifference?  Nay  more,  suppose  that  not  only 
is  it  to  give  us  no  pleasure,  but  it  is  to  be  a  perpetual  source 


254    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

of  agonizing  pain ;  does  not  a  positive  aversion  to  it  at  once 
arise  ?  Similarly  of  anything  which  we  detest :  imagine 
it  to  be  a  cause,  not  of  pain,  but  of  intense  and  unfailing 
pleasure,  and  can  we  then  help  longing  for  it  ?  If  an  affirma- 
tive answer  is  given  to  these  questions,  the  psychological 
hedonist  regards  the  truth  of  his  theory  as  granted. 

Objections.  —  We  shall  have  something  to  say  with  regard 
to  this  test  later.  Here  let  us  consider  some  objections  to 
the  theory. 

(1)  Is  there  an  Idea  of  Pleasure?  —  That  we  do  at  times 
desire  our  own  pleasure  is  almost  universally  admitted, 
though  in  recent  times  some  psychologists  have  denied  it. 
Pleasure  and  pain,  say  these  psychologists,  are  feelings  (or 
affections),  not  sensations,  and  are  not,  like  the  latter,  capa- 
ble of  being  represented  in  the  mind   by  the  faint  copies 
which  we  call '  ideas.'     What  we  call  the  idea  of  pleasure  is, 
then,  really  a  vague  general  notion  of  the  various  sorts  of 
experience  in  which  pleasure  is  felt.     But  if  there  is  no  idea 
of  pleasure,  pleasure  as  such  cannot  be  desired.     If  this  be 
correct,  psychological  hedonism  is  false  indeed  ;    but  there  is 
no  consensus  of  opinion  upon  the  point.     And,  historically, 
the  possibility  of  a  desire  for  pleasure  has  not  been  seriously 
disputed. 

(2)  Not  Pleasure  but  Pleasant  Objects  Desired.  —  What 
the  critics  urge  is  that  the  desire  for  pleasure  occupies  in 
most  men  a  comparatively  small  part  of  their  lives.     What 
men  ordinarily  desire  is  not  pleasure  as  such,  to  be  gotten 
no  matter  how,  but  things  and  activities  and  all  sorts  of  con- 
crete experiences.     The  man  who  desires  food  desires  food ; 
the  man  who  desires  a  game  of  billiards  desires  a  game  of 
billiards ;  the  man  who  desires  the  conversion  of  the  heathen 
desires  the  conversion  of  the  heathen  —  not  pleasure.     The 
thought  of  pleasure  may  not  enter  into  his  mind  at  all.     The 
reply  of  the  psychological  hedonist  is,  of  course,  that  the 
idea  of  pleasure  really  is  present,  though  not  at  the  center  of 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  255 

attention.  The  immediate  object  of  desire  is  not  pleasure, 
but  the  means  by  which  pleasure  is  directly  or  indirectly  to 
be  had.  But  still  it  is  pleasure  that  the  man  is  consciously, 
if  not  self-consciously  and  attentively,  seeking.  And  the 
fact  that  one  man  looks  to  one  source  of  pleasure,  another 
to  another,  is  due  (as  was  explained  above)  to  the  differences 
in  their  inherited  and  acquired  tastes. 

(3)  Ante  Mortem  Desires.  —  But,  say  the  objectors,  men 
often  desire  events  from  which  they  cannot  possibly  expect 
any  pleasure.    A  favorite  example  is  taken  from  the  conduct 
of  Epicurus  himself  in  his  last  hours  of  life.     Epicurus,  it 
will  be  recalled,  was  confident  that  at  death  both  pleasure 
and  pain  cease  forever.     And  yet,  when  he  was  about  to  die, 
he  took  care  to  make  provision  for  his  wards,  the  orphans 
of  his  friend  Metrodorus.     What  pleasure  could  he  hope  to 
gain  from  the  future  welfare  of  these  children?    None,  to 
be  sure.     But  (says  the  hedonist)  in  the  moments  of  life  that 
were  left  to  him,  was  not  the  imagination  of  their  happiness 
pleasant,  and  would  not  the  prospect  of  their  unhappiness 
have  been  painful  ?  —  for  we  can  have  pleasure  or  pain  even 
in  a  mere  fiction.     And  was  not  the  securing  of  this  pleasure 
and  the  prevention  of  this  pain  a  sufficient  motive  for  his  act  ? 

(4)  Desire  for  Pleasure  Defeats  Itself.  —  One  favorite 
criticism  is  based  upon  the  so-called  '  hedonistic  paradox/ 
The  paradox,  as  alleged,  is  as  follows:     Men  do  sometimes 
desire  particular  objects  only  for  the  pleasure  that  they 
expect  from  them.     Those  who  habitually  do  this  we  call 
'  pleasure-seekers/      Now    our    observation    of    such    men 
constantly  shows  them  to  be  unhappy.     And  when  we  look 
for  the  reason  we  see  that  to  desire  anything  merely  for  the 
sake  of  pleasure  soon  takes  away  our  capacity  for  getting 
pleasure  from  that  thing.     To  get  pleasure  from  billiards  one 
must  really  care  for  billiards  as  an  end  in  itself,  and  not  simply 
as  a  means  for  which  some  other  means  might  with  perfect 
indifference  be  substituted.     The  proposition  that  all  desire 


256    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

is  pleasure-seeking  is,  therefore,  a  manifest  absurdity.1  The 
reply  of  the  psychological  hedonist  is  simple.  The  melan- 
choly pleasure-seeker  differs  from  other  men  simply  in  this : 
that  he  does  not  know  himself,  does  not  understand  his  own 
capacities  for  pleasure.  He  tries  to  get  pleasure  in  ways 
in  which  he  sees  some  other  men  getting  it;  or,  without 
reckoning  upon  the  deadening  effects  of  custom,  he  tries 
to  get  pleasure  as  he  himself  has  often  gotten  it  in  the  past. 
Naturally,  the  chances  are  great  that  he  is  disappointed. 
Moreover,  the  notion  that  you  must  have  a  specific  desire 
for  something  before  it  can  give  you  pleasure  is  false.  Pleas- 
ure does  not  arise  only  from  the  satisfaction  of  particular 
desires.  It  may  arise  —  and  so  may  pain,  too,  for  that 
matter  —  from  a  totally  unexpected  source.  The  suddenly 
wafted  scent  of  a  bed  of  unseen  roses  is  none  the  less  grateful 
because  unanticipated.  A  game  of  billiards,  which  I  enter 
upon  against  my  will,  solely  to  avoid  some  greater  evil, 
may  turn  out  to  be  surprisingly  pleasant.  Before  a  thing 
has  been  found  to  be  a  source  of  pleasure,  it  is  not  desired. 
Afterwards  it  is  desired  for  the  sake  of  the  expected  pleasure. 
That  is  the  whole  story.2 


1  The  hedonistic  paradox  is  often  urged  as  an  objection  to  other  parts  of 
the  hedonistic  program,  and  we  shall  touch  upon  it  again. 

8  The  paradox  sometimes  takes  this  form :  To  experience  pleasure  you  must 
not  attend  to  it.  If  you  attend  specifically  to  the  pleasure  itself  (as  distin- 
guished from  its  source),  its  intensity  is  weakened,  and  it  is  soon  blotted  out 
altogether.  Sip  a  glass  of  your  favorite  wine ;  and  if  your  attention  to  the 
pleasure  distracts  you  from  the  flavor,  the  pleasure  vanishes.  Hence  the 
desire  for  pleasure,  as  distinct  from  the  pleasant  object,  defeats  itself.  —  The 
hedonist's  reply  is,  first,  that  the  facts  are  substantially  as  stated,  and, 
secondly,  that  they  do  not  militate  against  his  theory.  For  what  is  de- 
scribed is  not  the  natural  effect  of  pleasure.  It  does  not  tend  to  monopolize 
the  attention,  but  shares  it  with  the  source.  It  is  the  analytical  attention  of 
the  psychologist  that  isolates  the  pleasure  and  so  destroys  it.  And  the  only 
moral  is  :  If  you  wish  to  be  happy,  do  not  introspect  too  much.  The  hedon- 
ist adds  that,  in  his  view,  although  pleasure  is  the  ultimate  object  of  all  our 
desires,  we  seldom  give  it  any  high  degree  of  attention ;  so  that  the  whole 
argument  of  his  opponent  is  badly  misplaced. 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  257 

Why  Disproof  is  Difficult.  —  Psychological  hedonism  is  thus 
not  so  easy  to  refute  as  may  at  first  sight  be  supposed.  On 
a  closer  examination  we  can  easily  see  why.  It  is  a  theory 
with  regard  to  the  contents  of  consciousness  to  which  we 
are  not  attending  —  the  field  of  inattention.  For  whenever 
we  analyze  the  object  of  our  desire  and  find  no  expected 
pleasure  there,  the  easy  answer  always  is :  It  is  there,  but 
you  do  not  notice  it,  because  your  attention  is  elsewhere  — 
on  the  means 'of  getting  it.  Now  it  is  practically  impos- 
sible to  disprove  a  statement  like  that,  for  how  can  we  tell 
what  may  not  be  where  we  cannot  distinctly  see  ?  It  trans- 
ports discussion  to  the  night,  "  where  all  cats  are  gray," 
as  the  French  proverb  has  it. 

Proof  similarly  Difficult.  —  But  if  it  is  hard  to  disprove,  so 
also  is  it  fatally  hard  to  prove.  If  we  cannot  be  sure  that 
a  given  content  does  not  lurk  in  the  field  of  inattention, 
neither  can  we  be  sure  that  it  always  does  lurk  there.  The 
imaginary  test  which  we  mentioned  above  is  no  real  test 
at  all,  for  it  cannot  be  performed  with  any  precision.  We 
cannot  in  imagination  subtract  pleasure  (or  pain)  from  a 
given  experience,  and  add  pain  (or  pleasure),  without  chang- 
ing the  content  of  the  experience  otherwise.  When,  for 
example,  we  are  told  to  think  away  all  pleasure,  we  do  more  : 
we  blur  out  the  pleasant  details  upon  which  our  attachment 
rests.  When  we  are  told  to  add  pain,  we  add  not  pain  as 
such,  but  pains,  i.e.  particular  more  or  less  definite  sources 
of  annoyance. 

Uselessness  of  the  Theory.  —  Now  scientists  have  learned 
by  a  long  experience  that  theories  that  cannot  be  brought 
to  a  test  are  seldom  of  any  real  service  in  explaining  anything. 
The  present  theory  is  no  exception.  Every  one  admits  that 

At  the  present  time  many  psychologists  hold  that  it  is  impossible  to  attend 
to  any  affection  of  either  pleasure  or  pain :  that  it  is  only  on  the  sensational 
side  of  consciousness  that  attention  is  possible.  The  old  hedonists  would 
probably  have  regarded  this  theory  as  perfectly  compatible  with  their  own. 


258    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

when  things  are  (directly  or  indirectly)  pleasant  to  us,  we 
learn  to  like  them,  and  that  when  they  are  unpleasant,  we 
learn  to  dislike  them.  It  makes  this  fact  not  a  bit  more 
simple  to  declare  that  on  every  occasion  when  we  feel  desire 
or  aversion  the  idea  of  pleasure  or  pain  is  present  in  our 
minds,  and  that  all  our  conscious  activities  are  planned 
accordingly.  Why  should  we  make  ourselves  out  to  be  so 
calculating?  Why  not  say  simply  that  the  past  pleasure  or 
pain  has  modified  our  likes  and  dislikes,  instead  of  lugging 
in  the  idea  of  a  future  pleasure  or  pain  which  introspection 
almost  always  fails  to  discover? 

While,  therefore,  the  selfish  theory  cannot  be  regarded 
as  definitely  refuted,  no  one  in  our  time  is  inclined  to  regard 
it  with  favor.  It  is  not  a  promising  working  hypothesis. 

Idea  of  Pleasure  vs.  Pleasure  in  an  Idea.  —  There  is  a 
further  consideration  which  has  told  strongly  against  the  self- 
ish theory,  a  consideration  which  we  here  put  last  because  it 
is  based  on  a  psychological  analysis  of  the  processes  of  desire 
and  aversion,  which  is  widely,  but  not  universally,  accepted. 
Desire  is  undoubtedly  a  complex  process;  and  one  com- 
ponent of  it  seems  to  be  a  feeling  of  pleasure,  attached  to  the 
thought  of  the  desired  object.  Some  psychologists  (includ- 
ing many  modern  hedonists)  have  held  that  this  is  all  that 
desire  is  :  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  a  possible  future  condi- 
tion. Similarly,  the  complex  process  of  aversion  seems  to 
contain  a  feeling  of  pain :  some  psychologists,  again,  going 
so  far  as  to  say  that  aversion  is  no  more  than  pain  at  the 
thought  of  a  possible  future  condition.1  Now  it  should  be 
observed  that  this  pleasure  or  pain  is  not  an  idea  referred 
to  the  future.  It  is  not  a  possible  contingency  to  which  the 
man  looks  forward.  It  is  an  actual  present  feeling.  It  can- 
not, therefore,  be  regarded  as  a  part  of  the  desired  or  hated 
object;  it  is  simply,  as  above  said,  a  psychological  element  in 
the  desire  or  aversion  itself.  Now  the  older  hedonists,  it  is 

i  Cf.  note,  p.  225. 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  259 

said,  made  just  this  mistake:  they  confused  the  idea  of 
pleasure  with  pleasure  in  an  idea.  And  because  there  can 
be  no  desire  without  pleasure  or  aversion  without  pain,  they 
jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  all  desire  is  for  pleasure  and 
all  aversion  for  pain. 

The  criticism  is  shrewd ;  very  likely  there  is  truth  in  it. 

III.  THE  THEORY  OF  ORIGINAL  SELFISHNESS 

Its  Advantages.  —  The  theory  of  original  selfishness  is, 
as  we  have  said,  the  modern  substitute  for  the  foregoing. 
It  has  the  advantage  of  not  being  openly  in  opposition  to 
our  ordinary  self-observation.  It  makes  a  slighter  demand 
upon  our  '  scientific  credulity.'  Not  all  desire  is  for  pleas- 
ure, not  all  aversion  is  for  pain,  but  only  has  been :  surely 
that  is  a  very  little  thing  to  believe !  And  the  theory  has 
the  further  advantage  of  being  in  line  with  modes  of  explana- 
tion which  have  been  found  serviceable  in  the  treatment  of 
other  problems  of  mind  —  the  modes  of  explanation  that  are 
comprised  under  the  general  name  of  '  associationism/ 
Men  who  have  held  it  could  thus  congratulate  themselves 
that  they  were  genuinely  '  scientific/ 

Empirical  Evidence.  —  Besides,  it  is  based  on  admitted 
facts.  There  is  no  doubt  that  we  often  do  desire  things  first 
as  means  to  further  ends,  and  then  (as  these  ends  drop  out 
of  mind)  for  their  own  sake.  The  theory  of  original  self- 
ishness asks  us  to  generalize  this  observation,  to  conceive 
that  all  our  various  desires  have  thus  originated  in  one  simple 
original  desire  —  the  desire  for  happiness.  And  there  is 
this  further  direct  evidence,  which  is  generally  admitted. 
We  all  desire  pleasure,  and  are  averse  to  pain,  for  its  own 
sake,  without  ever  having  to  learn ;  and  our  liking  for  partic- 
ular objects  increases  as  they  give  us  pleasure,  and  decreases 
as  they  give  us  pain.  What  more  natural,  therefore,  than 
to  suppose  that  it  is  desire  for  pleasure  and  aversion  to  pain 


260    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

that  have  been  the  fundamental  agencies  in  shaping  all  our 
particular  tastes? 

No  longer  Popular.  —  And  yet,  with  all  these  advantages 
in  its  favor,  the  theory  of  original  selfishness  is  now  almost 
as  much  out  of  fashion  as  the  selfish  theory.  And  again 
it  is  not  so  much  any  direct  refutation  that  has  counted 
against  it,  as  the  emergence  of  a  more  '  economical '  theory 
to  account  for  the  same  facts :  the  theory  that  not  desire 
for  pleasure  and  aversion  to  pain  are  the  agencies  that  form 
our  tastes,  but  pleasure  and  pain  themselves. 

Objection :  Desire  for  Objects  comes  First.  —  As  for 
the  direct  refutation,  that  has  always  taken  the  form  of 
trying  to  show  that  desire  for  particular  objects  must  neces- 
sarily arise  in  the  young  animal  earlier  than  the  desire  for 
pleasure.  It  is  said,  for  example,  that  the  very  first  desire 
cannot  be  for  pleasure,  because  the  animal  has  not  yet  experi- 
enced pleasure,  and  so  can  have  no  idea  of  it.  The  babe  at 
the  breast,  when  first  he  begins  to  suck,  can  have  no  idea 
of  the  pleasure  the  milk  will  give  him.  Only  later,  as  he  re- 
vives the  experience  in  his  mind,  can  a  desire  for  a  repetition 
of  the  pleasure  arise  in  him.  But  the  argument  is  almost  un- 
believably weak.  If  the  babe  has  no  expectation  of  pleas- 
ure, so  neither  has  he  any  expectation  of  milk.  His  desire 
is  not  for  any  object  at  all.  It  is,  for  that  reason,  not  what 
we  properly  term  '  desire/  It  is  a  blind,  instinctive  impulse, 
following  with  mechanical  precision  upon  its  peculiar  stimuli. 
Now  the  hedonist  is  perfectly  willing  to  admit  that  there  are 
many  such  impulses,  both  instinctive  and  acquired  by  habit, 
which  often  move  us  to  act.  His  theory  has  only  to  do 
with  desire  for  an  object;  and  he  holds  that  the  primitive 
object  is  pleasure.  If  the  milk  gave  no  pleasure  (or  relieved 
no  pain),  it  would  never  become  an  object  of  desire.  It  is 
the  pleasure  that  is  desired  first. 

A  Simpler  Theory.  —  The  theory  of  original  selfishness  has 
been  generally  abandoned,  not  because  it  has  been  proved 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  261 

to  be  false,  but  because  it  has  been  found  to  be  unnecessary. 
For  what  hinders  us  from  supposing  that  all  objects  of  desire 
are  particular  from  the  start?  Our  first  cravings  are  object- 
less ;  but  as  soon  as  we  become  aware  of  the  objects  of  these 
cravings  we  desire  them,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  satisfaction, 
but  because  of  the  satisfaction.  The  actual  pleasantness 
of  the  warm,  sweet  milk  intensifies  the  sucking  impulse  and 
makes  the  infant  pull  the  harder.  And  when  the  child  has 
formed  an  idea  of  the  milk,  and  the  natural  stimuli  of  suck- 
ing recur  (the  sensation  of  hunger,  and  the  pressure  of  the 
nipple  upon  the  lips),  the  idea  of  the  milk  will  also  arise, 
and  by  its  pleasantness  —  its  actually  felt  pleasantness  — 
reenforce  these  stimuli.  There  is  no  need  to  assume  an  idea 
of  pleasure,  much  less  a  distinct  desire  for  pleasure.  '  Pleas- 
ure facilitates,  pain  inhibits '  —  that  is  the  only  principle 
we  need. 

IV.  THE  HEDONISTIC  THEORY  OF  VALUES  IN  GENERAL 
Relation  to  the  Foregoing  Theories.  —  All  this,  however, 
may  be  regarded  as  a  mere  preliminary  to  the  main  problem, 
the  nature  of  value.  And  it  may  even  be  set  down  as  an 
unnecessary  preliminary.  For  one  may  hold  almost  any 
theory  you  please  with  regard  to  the  objects  of  desire ;  one 
may  even  hold  that  pleasure  in  the  abstract  —  pleasure 
considered  apart  from  any  particular  pleasant  object  or 
experience  —  never  is  desired,  and  that  pain  in  the  abstract 
is  never  avoided;  and  still  maintain  that  pleasure  is  the 
sole  ultimate  good,  and  pain  the  sole  ultimate  evil. 

For  consider  (it  may  be  said)  any  object  to  which  we 
ascribe  great  value;  and  let  us  admit  that  in  thus  valuing 
it  no  desire  of  pleasure  as  such  is,  or  has  been,  active  in  our 
minds.  If,  now,  for  any  length  of  time,  the  object  is  repeat- 
edly found  to  give  us  no  pleasure,  its  value  gradually  di- 
minishes ;  and  if  it  becomes  a  source  of  pain,  its  value  event- 
ually sinks  below  zero.  The  values  of  things  are,  in  fact, 


262    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

constantly  changing  in  this  way.  Pleasure  and  pain  are  thus 
the  essential  factors  in  constituting  values.  The  good  is 
the  directly  or  indirectly  pleasant;  the  evil  is  the  directly 
or  indirectly  painful. 

Objections:  (l)  The  'Swine  Philosophy/ —  The  criti- 
cisms which  have  generally  been  urged  against  this  view  are 
quite  as  weak  as  the  criticisms  of  the  hedonistic  theories 
of  desire.  For  the  most  part  they  amount  to  a  mere  senti- 
mentalism  —  a  feeling  that  man  is  of  too  noble  a  nature  to 
be  born  for  nothing  better  than  pleasure,  since  it  is  within  the 
reach  of  the  lower  animals.  So  hedonism  has  been  called  the 
'  swine  philosophy  '  —  as  if  that  were  a  sufficient  refutation. 
Of  course,  if  swine  are  capable  in  any  measure  of  enjoying 
the  highest  good,  so  much  the  better  for  them;  we  as  men 
are  not  worse  off  for  that.  But  the  epithet  ignores  the 
fact  that  hedonists  are  fully  capable  of  recognizing  the  dis- 
tinction between  '  higher  '  and  '  lower  '  pleasures.  This 
distinction,  indeed,  plays  an  important  part  in  their  maxims 
for  the  guidance  of  life.  The  lower  pleasures  are  those 
which,  though  they  may  for  the  moment  be  very  intense, 
are  not  durable,  and,  when  intense,  are  bound  to  be  mixed 
with,  or  soon  followed  by,  considerable  pains.  Such  are 
the  pleasures  that  arise  from  the  satisfaction  of  sensual 
appetites.  The  higher  pleasures,  while  less  passionate, 
are  purer  and  more  durable,  and  are  followed  by  no  reaction. 
Such  are  the  pleasures  of  refined  social  intercourse,  and  it  is 
these  that  the  wise  man  estimates  most  highly;  while  the 
pleasures  of  swine  and  the  pleasures  of  swinish  men  belong 
to  the  other  class. 

(2)  The  Good  must  be  Permanent.  —  Often  it  is  objected 
that  pleasure  is  transient,  and  that  the  supreme  good  must 
be  something  lasting  that  can  permanently  satisfy  men's 
desires.  But  would  not  an  unbroken  succession  of  pleasures 
do  this?  After  all,  an  unsatisfied  desire  is  a  pain,  and  in 
the  hedonistic  ideal  this  would  not  remain. 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  263 

(3)  Real  Values  are  Objective.  —  Or,  again,  it  is  said  that 
pleasure  and  pain  are  subjective,  existing  only  as  contents 
of  an  individual  mind,  and  not  directly  cognizable  by  any 
one  else;  while  values  are  objective,  existing  as  qualities  of 
things  or  circumstances,  open  to  general  observation.  When, 
for  example,  we  look  together  at  a  painting,  each  of  us  feels 
little  waves  of  pleasure,  or  it  may  be  of  pain,  as  his  glance  flits 
from  one  detail  to  another  or  widens  to  take  in  a  view  of  the 
whole;  and  these  feelings  are  absolutely  private,  shut  up 
within  his  own  soul.  But  the  beauty  of  the  painting  (its 
aesthetic  value)  is  there  for  all  to  observe  and  appreciate. 
We  set  ourselves  up  as  authorities  to  criticize  it,  and  proceed 
to  defend  our  criticisms,  thereby  treating  the  beauty  as  an 
objective  fact,  concerning  which  there  may  be  difference  of 
opinion  but  only  one  truth.  The  contrast  between  pleasure 
(and  pain)  and  value  is  like  that  between  the  sensations  of 
pressure,  color,  sound,  etc.,  that  enter  a  man's  consciousness 
as  he  observes  a  physical  object,  and  the  physical  object 
itself.  The  sensations  have  no  existence  save  as  the  observer 
is  conscious  of  them.  The  physical  object  is  a  part  of  our 
common  world,  to  which  all  sound  men  have  access.  —  The 
hedonist's  answer  to  this  objection  is  very  simple.  He  points 
out  that  according  to  his  own  theory  value  is  of  two  sorts, 
and  that  the  objector  confuses  these.  The  one  sort  is  ulti- 
mate value,  which  consists  of  pleasure  and  pain,  and  is,  in- 
deed, subjective.  But  the  other  sort,  relative  value,  which 
consists  in  the  capacity  to  excite  pleasure  and  pain,  is  ob- 
jective. No  need  to  dispute  this.  We  human  beings  are 
constructed,  physically  and  mentally,  on  the  same  general 
pattern ;  so  that  the  object  which  is  capable  of  pleasing  one 
sound  man  is,  in  general,  capable  of  pleasing  others.  To 
be  sure,  there  are  exceptions,  due  to  individual  differences 
between  men,  ranging  all  the  way  from  slight  variations  of 
taste  to  positive  abnormality.  But  this  is  also  true  of  physi- 
cal qualities.  Not  all  such  qualities  are  observable  by  all 


264    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

men.  There  are  the  deaf  and  the  blind  and  the  victims  of 
catarrh,  to  whom  more  or  less  of  the  world  is  hidden.  Fur- 
thermore, when  one  cannot  appreciate  the  value  of  a  thing 
directly,  he  can  often  become  aware  of  it  indirectly  from  the 
behavior  of  other  men  —  just  as  the  blind  man  learns  of  the 
different  colors.  He  finds  that  his  fellows  are  pleased  or 
pained  by  things  which  affect  him  not  at  all.  And  thus  he 
realizes  that  there  may  be  in  things  a  real  capacity  to  please 
or  pain,  to  which  he  himself  has  not  the  capacity  to  respond. 
The  values  exist  for  others,  though  they  do  not  exist  for 
him.  Of  course,  if  no  one  could  ever  respond,  the  capacity 
to  please  or  pain  would  not  be  real  —  the  value  would  not 
exist  at  all. 

(4)  Common  Good.  —  Much  the  same  answer  is  given  to 
the  allied  objection,  that  the  hedonistic  theory  is  individ- 
ualistic :  that  it  treats  each  man  as  if  he  lived  only  for  him- 
self, and  takes  no  account  of  any  common  good,  whether  it 
appertain  to  the  welfare  of  the  family,  the  community,  the 
state,  or  humanity  as  a  whole.  To  be  sure,  the  hedonist  may 
speak  of  the  happiness  of  a  number  of  men;  but  that  is 
simply  an  external  putting-together  of  the  happinesses  of  so 
many  individual  men.  —  Again  the  hedonist  replies  that 
the  distinction  between  ultimate  and  relative  value  has  been 
overlooked.  It  is  on  the  side  of  relative  value  —  the  capac- 
ity to  give  pleasure  and  pain  —  that  all  common  goods  and 
common  evils  belong.  Some  things  must  be  enjoyed  ex- 
clusively if  they  are  to  be  enjoyed  at  all.  But  there  are 
other  things  that  a  number  of  men,  even  a  great  multitude, 
can  enjoy  without  mutual  hindrance.  A  man's  portion  of 
food,  his  best  suit  of  clothes,  his  toothbrush,  he  cannot 
share  without  some  loss  to  himself.  But  his  comfortable 
home  is  not  less  his,  because  his  wife  and  children  enjoy  it 
also ;  indeed,  were  they  removed,  it  would  become  a  somber 
place  for  him.  Good  roads,  a  good  water  supply,  good  police 
protection  are  of  value  to  every  one  in  the  community. 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  265 

Good  laws,  good  courts,  a  good  army  and  navy  spread  their 
benefits  nation-wide.  The  advances  of  science,  the  master- 
pieces of  art,  the  encouragements  and  consolations  of  reli- 
gious faith  may  be  unlimited  in  the  possible  scope  of  their 
contribution  to  human  happiness.  These  are  common 
goods,  and  hedonism  recognizes  them  as  such. 

(5)  Kinds  of  Pleasures.  —  Sometimes  it  has  been  urged 
that  there  are  qualitative  (as  well  as  quantitative)  differences 
between  one  feeling  of  pleasure  and  another,  and  that  these 
differences  affect  the  value  of  the  pleasure.  Plato  and 
Aristotle,  as  we  have  seen,  are  the  authors  of  this  view.1 
Sometimes  it  is  even  said  that  some  kinds  of  pleasure  are  bad ; 
but  generally  the  objector  is  content  with  saying  that  the 
goodness  of  pleasure  is  not  proportionate  to  its  amount,  but 
depends  also  upon  the  quality,  or  kind.  It  is  admitted,  then, 
that  everything  good  is  directly  or  indirectly  pleasant,  and, 
similarly,  that  all  that  is  bad  is  unpleasant ;  but  it  is  denied 
that  ultimate  goodness  and  pleasure  can  be  identical,  because 
they  are  not  proportional.  The  important  thing  (it  is  said) 
is  the  quality ;  for  a  very  little  of  one  kind  of  pleasure  may  be 
worth  more  than  a  great  deal  of  another  kind.  It  is,  then, 
essential  to  ethics  to  determine  what  kinds  of  behavior  give 
rise  to  the  higher  kinds  of  pleasure,  and  what  kinds  impart 
only  the  lower.  This  is  all  very  cogent  if  the  initial  observa- 
tions upon  which  it  is  founded  are  correct.  Does  pleasure 
vary  in  quality  ?  Hedonists  have  almost  unanimously  denied 
this ;  and  up  to  our  own  day  it  may  be  said  to  be  an  open 
question,  with  the  balance  of  scientific  opinion  on  the  hedon- 
ists' side.  What  we  might  be  tempted  to  regard  as  qualita- 
tive differences  between  different  kinds  of  pleasure  —  as 
between  the  pleasure  of  poetry  and  the  pleasure  of  brisk 
exercise  —  are  explained  as  belonging,  not  to  the  feeling  of 
pleasure  itself,  but  to  the  complex  of  sensations  or  ideas  that 
accompany  it  in  consciousness.  Of  course,  even  if  it  should 

1  Cf.  pp.  143,  145. 


266    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

be  demonstrated  that  pleasure  does  vary  in  quality,  the 
further  question  would  still  remain,  whether  different  kinds  of 
pleasure  possess  different  grades  of  value.  On  the  whole,  it 
must  be  admitted  that  the  hedonistic  theory  is  still  safe  from 
attack  in  this  direction. 

(6)  Not  Pleasure  but  the  Pleasant  Experience  is  Good.  — 
Sometimes  it  is  said  that  the  hedonistic  view  is  one-sided : 
that  we  ought  to  consider  as  the  ultimate  good  and  evil,  not 
pleasure  and  pain  as  such,  but '  pleasures  '  and  '  pains,'  i.e. 
the  total  experiences  in  which  pleasure  and  pain  are  felt  —  not 
the  mere  pleasantness  of  music,  for  example,  but  the  music 
as  heard  and  enjoyed.     Such  a  view  was  held,  in  combina- 
tion with  the  foregoing,  by  Plato  and  Aristotle,  and  it  has 
been  very  popular  in  modern  times.     Taken  by  itself,  how- 
ever, it  has  not  much  controversial  value.     The  hedonist 
can  easily  reply  that  the  difference  from  his  own  view  is 
merely  verbal.     We  are,  of  course,  so  constituted  that  we 
cannot  experience  pleasure  and  pain  except  as  elements  in 
larger  mental  wholes.     It  is  only  as  our  senses  or  our  imag- 
ination is  stimulated  in  some  way,  that  pleasure  or  pain  can 
arise  in  us.     They  come  as  the  accompaniments  of  tastes 
and  shapes  and  sounds  and  fancies  and  expectations  —  we 
cannot  isolate  them.     Let,  therefore,  any  one  who  pleases 
attach  the  verbal  tags,  '  good  '  and  '  evil,'  to  the  total  experi- 
ences and  not  to  the  pleasure  and  pain.     These  still  remain 
essential  constituents  of  the  ultimate  good  and  evil  —  the 
constituents  upon  which  its  value,  positive  or  negative,  de- 
pends, and  with  which  the  value  is  directly  proportional. 

The  central  point  at  issue  between  the  hedonists  and 
their  critics  is  thus  the  proportionality  of  value  and  pleasure. 
Admit  this,  and  the  question  of  identity  is  not  worth  fighting 
over. 

(7)  Are  Pleasures  and  Values  Proportional?  —  Now  at 
this  central  point  the  controversy  becomes  more  technical 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  267 

than  ever  —  and  not  a  whit  more  conclusive.  We  shall  con- 
tent ourselves  with  noting  one  favorite  line  of  attack. 

Can  There  be  a  Sum  of  Pleasures?  —  If  pleasures  and 
values  are  proportional,  then,  since  values  are  capable  of 
being  added  together,  pleasures  too  must  be  capable  of  being 
added  together.  (This,  indeed,  the  hedonists  openly  assert.) 
But  can  there  be  a  sum  of  pleasures?  If  there  cannot,  the 
hedonistic  theory  is  at  once  demolished.  It  might  still  be 
true  that  pleasure  is  essential  to  value,  but  pleasure  and  ulti- 
mate value  would  no  longer  be  equivalent,  but  would  belong 
to  two  separate  orders  of  facts. 

Perhaps  Not.  —  Now  upon  this  vital  question  there  is  no 
general  consensus  of  scientific  opinion,  though  the  balance 
is  here  probably  somewhat  against  the  hedonist.  The  ques- 
tion is  really  quite  difficult  and  complicated.  Of  course, 
when  we  compare  a  number  of  pleasant  experiences  together, 
we  may  value  one  as  much  as  we  value  two  others  taken  to- 
gether ;  so  that  if  we  had  to  choose  between  the  one  and  the 
two,  we  should  be  uncertain  which  choice  would  be  the  wiser. 
But  do  we  in  such  a  case  add  together  two  quantities  of 
pleasure  and  compare  them  with  a  third?  A  pleasure  of  a 
given  intensity  is  not  a  whole  that  can  be  broken  up  into 
separate  parts.  One  pleasure  may  be  more  intense  than 
another,  but  can  it  be  twice  as  intense  ?  *  In  order  to  add  to- 
gether pleasures  of  different  intensities  and  durations,  we 
should  have  to  reduce  them  to  a  common  denomination; 
let  us  say,  by  multiplying  the  intensity  by  the  duration.  Do 
we  ever  do  such  a  thing  —  not  necessarily  with  any  high 
degree  of  precision,  but  ever  so  roughly  or  approximately? 
Hedonists  insist  that  we  constantly  do  just  this.  The  child 
who  prefers  the  stick  of  '  sucking-candy  '  to  the  better  tasting 

1  The  same  question  has  been  asked  with  reference  to  the  intensity  of  a 
sensation  —  say  the  sensation  of  warmth.  One  object  may  be  warmer  to 
the  touch  than  another  —  a  little  warmer,  or  very  much  warmer.  But  can 
it  be  twice  as  warm?  Or  can  one  object  be  as  warm  as  two  others  taken 
together  ?  Psychologists  are  generally  disposed  to  answer  no. 


268    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

chocolate  cream,  because  the  former  lasts  longer,  is  multi- 
plying intensity  by  duration,  is  he  not  ?  And  is  not  a  great 
part  of  the  rational  planning  of  our  lives  precisely  similar? 
The  reply  of  the  anti-hedonist  is  that  we  do  nothing  of  the 
sort,  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  cannot  be  done ;  the  sup- 
posed operation  is  a  psychological  impossibility.  The  value 
of  the  candy  does,  indeed,  depend  on  the  pleasantness  of  its 
taste,  and  it  does  also  depend  upon  its  durability.  Candy 
that  pleased  us  not  at  all,  or  that  pleased  us  but  for  an  in- 
stant, would  be  worth  nothing,  or  almost  nothing.  But  to 
try  to  make  this  out  to  be  a  case  of  addition  or  multiplication 
of  pleasures  is  to  obscure  the  true  limits  of  mathematical 
procedure. 

The  Dispute  Inconclusive.  —  We  leave  it  to  the  reader 
to  form  his  own  conclusion  as  to  the  merits  of  this  dispute. 
But  we  venture  this  surmise :  that  no  man  was  ever  led  by 
such  considerations  to  change  his  attitude  toward  hedonism. 
The  fact  is  that  only  very  rarely  in  the  history  of  the  mental 
and  social  sciences  has  any  important  theory  been  overthrown 
by  a  frontal  attack.  In  these  sciences  experiment  has  a 
narrow  range  of  applicability.  Men  cannot  repeat  and  con- 
trol their  observations  as  they  will.  And  hence  disputations 
may  rage  on  endlessly.  It  does  not  follow  that  the  disputa- 
tions are  idle.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  often  most  instruc- 
tive. But  they  are  usually  inconclusive  upon  the  main  points 
at  issue.  For  the  most  part,  in  these  sciences,  theories  are 
set  aside,  not  because  they  have  been  proved  to  be  false,  but 
because  they  proved  themselves,  in  their  attempted  applica- 
tion, to  be  unhelpful  —  unimportant  if  true. 

Futility  of  Hedonism.  —  Such  is  the  case  with  hedonism. 
Suppose  it  true ;  and  then  there  are  comparatively  few  cases 
in  which  we  can  even  pretend  to  show,  by  a  calculus  of  pleas- 
ures and  pains,  why  one  good  thing  is  preferable  to  another. 
One  can  always,  to  be  sure,  repeat  the  general  formula,  that 
the  better  thing  is  better  because  it  gives  rise  to  a  greater 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  269 

net  sum  of  pleasures ;  and  one  can  generally  point  to  partic- 
ular pleasant  and  painful  experiences  which  each  thing  makes 
possible.  But  anything  like  an  estimate  of  their  compara- 
tive value,  in  terms  of  pleasure  and  pain,  is  seldom  so  much 
as  conceivable. 

An  Instructive  Parallel.  —  Perhaps  an  illustration  will 
help  to  make  plain  what  we  are  asserting  here,  though  at 
first  sight  the  illustration  may  seem  far-fetched. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century  a  theory  with 
regard  to  physical  laws  was  advanced,  which  has  had  advo- 
cates down  to  our  own  day ;  namely,  that  such  laws  are  de- 
scriptions of  the  order  in  which  our  sensations  come  to  us. 
The  '  law  of  falling  bodies/  for  example,  was  held  to  be  a 
description  of  the  way  in  which  certain  visual  (and  other) 
sensations  are  accustomed  to  follow  each  other  in  our  experi- 
ence ;  and  similarly  of  the  law  by  which  water  expands  in 
freezing,  or  the  law  by  which  the  magnet  attracts  iron.  The 
theory  is  plausible,  because,  of  course,  it  is  by  means  of  our 
successive  sensations  that  we  observe  the  laws  of  nature. 
But  it  has  this  defect :  that  no  one  has  ever  succeeded  in  ex- 
pressing a  single  physical  law  in  terms  of  sensations  of  any 
sort.  Make  the  attempt  with  the  law  of  falling  bodies,  and 
you  will  soon  see  why.  Try  to  fill  out  the  formula,  "  Such 
and  such  sensations  are  invariably  followed  by  such  and  such 
others,"  substituting  definite  kinds  and  intensities  and  com- 
binations of  sensations  for  each  mere  "  such  and  such," 
and  you  cannot  even  begin.  Physical  terms,  as  distinguished 
from  descriptions  of  sensations,  must  always  be  used.  Or, 
better  still,  try  to  give  a  statement,  in  sensational  terms,  of 
the  law  of  the  indestructibility  of  matter,  or  of  the  law  of 
the  conservation  of  energy.  The  theory  that  physical  laws 
describe  the  order  of  our  sensations  is,  we  repeat,  plausible ; 
but  it  has  not  to  its  credit  one  single  definite  application. 
No  one  in  dealing  with  a  physical  law  has  ever  found  this 
theory  of  the  slightest  use.  It  is  unimportant  if  true. 


270    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

The  Analysis  of  Values.  —  The  case  is  the  same,  or  almost 
the  same,  with  hedonism.  The  value  of  a  piece  of  candy  — 
which  has  no  use  beyond  the  immediate  enjoyment  of  it  — 
ought  to  be  conceivable  as  a  sum  of  pleasures  if  anything  is. 
But  is  it  ?  As  soon  as  one  begins  to  be  precise,  as  soon  as  a 
real  analysis  of  the  value  begins,  one  finds  oneself  consider- 
ing, not  amounts  of  pleasure,  but  valuable  details :  the  tex- 
ture, the  flavor,  the  contrast  of  the  dry,  bitter  chocolate  shell 
with  the  moist,  sweet  interior.  And  the  value  of  the  candy 
is  not  figured  as  a  sum  of  increments  of  pleasure  due  to  the 
various  factors  —  so  much  to  the  texture,  so  much  to  the 
flavor,  etc. ;  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  there  is  no  amount  of 
pleasure  that  is  with  any  uniformity  due  to  texture,  flavor,  or 
any  other  factor,  or  to  any  definable  combination  of  factors. 
And  so  it  is  with  everything  else.  I  value  my  tennis  racket 
for  its  weight  and  balance  and  improved  shape,  the  resilience 
of  the  strings,  the  exactness  with  which  the  handle  fits  my 
grasp,  etc.  I  value  my  friend  for  his  moral  courage,  his 
generosity,  his  wit,  his  barytone  voice,  his  affection  for  me. 
Now  all  these  features  and  proportions  are  sources  of  pleasure : 
let  that  be  admitted.  (Even  so,  in  our  late  illustration,  the 
physical  properties  of  things  are  admittedly  the  cause  of  our 
sensations.)  But  neither  a  tennis  racket  nor  a  friend  is  ever 
valued  by  a  calculation  of  amounts  of  pleasure  —  even  sup- 
posing such  a  calculation  to  be  possible. 

Conclusion.  —  The  result  of  our  discussion,  then,  is  this : 
that  although  the  hedonists  are  correct  in  saying  that  nothing 
is  good  except  as  it  is  capable  of  giving  pleasure,  or  evil  ex- 
cept as  it  is  capable  of  giving  pain ;  nevertheless,  in  claiming 
that  the  goodness  and  evilness  are  proportional  to  the  pleasure 
and  pain  provided,  they  are  indulging  in  an  idle  speculation, 
for  no  actual  valuations  are  conducted  upon  such  a  basis. 

Complexity  of  Value  Systems.  —  This  result  may  be 
viewed  from  a  different  point  of  view.  The  values  of  things, 
as  we  reckon  them  in  our  daily  life,  are  of  many  different  kinds, 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  271 

and  the  relations  between  these  kinds  are  exceedingly  complex 
and  varied.  The  values  of  art  alone  —  such  as  beauty, 
sublimity,  comedy,  and  pathos  —  are  subject  matter  for 
a  science;  and  when  we  consider  for  a  moment  how  the 
values  of  art  are  affected  by  economic,  moral,  and  religious 
influences,  the  complexity  of  the  subject  is  mightily  increased. 
Such  being  the  case,  it  is  impossible  to  treat  aesthetic  values 
as  reducible  to  amounts  of  pleasure  and  pain.  No  man 
of  any  critical  appreciation  at  all  would  ever  think  of  esti- 
mating the  value  of  the  simplest  work  of  art  in  such  terms. 
He  might  find  it  '  sweet '  or  '  quaint '  or  '  affecting '  or 
'  commonplace/  but  never  '  good  for  so  much  pleasure/ 

Sentiments  and  Institutions.  —  What  we  actually  find 
among  men  is  that  the  valuations  of  things  are  determined 
by  a  vast  array  of  sentiments  —  sentiments  which  sometimes 
attach  to  particular  things,  as  a  favorite  chair  or  a  beloved 
wife,  sometimes  to  types  or  kinds  of  things,  as  mission  archi- 
tecture or  military  valor.  These  sentiments  vary  more  or 
less  with  the  character  of  individual  men  and,  more  im- 
portantly, with  that  of  communities  and  races;  and  they 
have  their  expression  in  institutions  great  and  small,  from  gov- 
ernments and  confederacies  to  the  games  of  childhood.  The 
study  of  values  must  be  the  study  of  sentiments  or  of  insti- 
tutions, or,  in  a  comprehensive  treatment,  of  both  —  their 
analysis  and  classification,  and  the  tracing  of  the  conditions 
and  order  of  their  development. 

In  such  a  study  the  hedonistic  calculus  does  not  enter. 

V.   ETHICAL  HEDONISM 

Full  Discussion  Unnecessary.  —  After  dwelling  so  long 
upon  hedonism  as  a  general  theory  of  values,  we  need  say 
little  about  ethical  hedonism  in  either  of  its  forms ;  for  the 
same  arguments  are  repeated  upon  both  sides,1  and  the 

1  The  argument  against  egoistic  hedonism,  based  upon  the  'hedonistic 
paradox,'  deserves  a  footnote.  If  (it  is  said)  to  desire  things  only  for  the 


272    INTRODUCTION  TO   THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

outcome  is  very  much  the  same :  that  neither  egoistic  he- 
donism nor  universalistic  hedonism  can  be  definitely  proved 
to  be  false,  but  that  neither  has  any  concrete  application  in 
the  conduct  of  life. 

One  or  two  points  of  special  interest  must,  however,  be 
mentioned. 

(l)  Are  Moral  Values  Absolute  ?  —  Many  thinkers  who 
have  been  quite  willing  to  adopt  the  pleasure  theory  for  all 
other  sorts  of  values  have  balked  at  its  application  to  moral 
values,  for  this  reason :  that  moral  values  (as  they  have  said) 
are  absolute,  or  unconditional,  while  the  conduciveness  of 
any  sort  of  conduct  to  produce  pleasure  or  pain  depends  upon 
circumstances  and  may  vary  greatly.  Thus,  for  example,  it 
is  always  right  to  tell  the  truth,  and  wrong  to  lie ;  but  there 
may  well  be  occasions  when  the  telling  of  a  lie  would  make 
everybody  concerned  very  happy.  Again  —  to  take  the  ex- 
ample which  is  of  the  greatest  historical  importance  —  it 

sake  of  pleasure  takes  away  the  pleasure,  how  can  it  be  true  that  a  man 
ought  always  to  aim  at  his  own  greatest  happiness  ?  Answer :  Egoistic 
hedonism  does  not  declare  that  a  man  ought  always  to  aim  at  his  own  hap- 
piness. It  declares  that  he  ought  to  have  such  aims  (both  ultimate  and 
proximate)  as  will,  in  general,  promote  his  happiness;  and  that,  indeed,  this 
is  the  meaning  of  the  word  '  ought.'  If  the  hedonistic  paradox  be  correct,  — 
if  it  be  true  that  to  aim  at  pleasure  makes  pleasure  impossible,  —  then  it 
simply  follows  that  men  ought  not  to  aim  at  pleasure.  This  would  be  a 
somewhat  pessimistic  conclusion ;  for  it  would  mean  that  the  more  clearly 
men  understood  the  ultimate  consequences  of  their  acts,  the  less  would  be 
their  capacity  for  happiness.  It  would  involve  men  in  a  hopeless  struggle 
to  put  out  of  mind  the  main  concern  of  life.  But  it  would  not  be  a  logi- 
cally ridiculous  conclusion.  All  that  one  can  say  is  that  if  the  paradox  be 
correct,  egoistic  hedonism  and  the  selfish  theory  are  plainly  incompatible. 
However,  no  advocate  of  the  selfish  theory  would  for  a  moment  admit  the 
paradox. 

We  may  remark  in  this  connection  that  universalistic  hedonism  does  not 
declare  that  a  man  ought  always  to  aim  at  the  happiness  of  all  concerned. 
It  simply  declares  that  his  aims  ought  to  be  such  as  will,  in  general,  promote 
the  happiness  of  all  concerned.  In  other  words,  universalistic  hedonism 
does  not  reduce  all  morality  to  benevolence.  However,  it  does  undoubtedly 
tend  to  encourage  benevolence,  just  as  egoistic  hedonism  tends  to  encourage 
an  'enlightened  selfishness.' 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  273 

is  never  right  to  take  from  a  man  his  property  without  due 
process  of  law ;  and  yet  the  accumulation  of  vast  fortunes, 
with  the  accompanying  impoverishment  of  a  great  portion 
of  the  people,  may  be  the  cause  of  untold  misery  which  a 
wholesale  confiscation  might  easily  remedy. 

Radical  and  Conservative  Views.  —  In  the  face  of  this  con- 
tention we  find  hedonists  taking  two  different  positions. 

(1)  Some  have  simply  denied  that  moral  values  are  abso- 
lute.    Truth-telling  is  sometimes  wrong,  and  confiscation, 
or  even  stealing,  is  sometimes  right.     These  men  were  moral 
and  political  reformers  of  the  most  extreme  type ;   and  they 
made  of  their  hedonism  the  excuse  for  a  general  assault  upon 
all  manner  of  traditional  prejudices  and  vested  interests. 
And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  though  they  sometimes  seemed  to 
lose  their  balance  of  judgment,  hedonism  has  done  a  tremen- 
dous amount  of  good  in  the  world  through  them. 

(2)  But  hedonism  has  also  had  its  conservatives,  who  have 
maintained  the  absoluteness  of  moral  distinctions,  and  es- 
pecially of  the  distinction  between  justice  and  injustice.     In 
the  first  place,  it  has  been  said,  the  various  rules  by  which 
right  is  distinguished  from  wrong  have  been  laid  down  by 
God,  whom  we  can  trust  to  make  all  work  out  for  the  best  if 
we  obey  him,  and  who  will  certainly  punish  us  if  we  do  not. 
This  argument  is,  of  course,  very  satisfactory  to  those  who 
believe  themselves  possessed  of  a  clear  and  unmistakable 
revelation  of  God's  will  in  all  the  different  circumstances  of 
life.     But  to  many  other  good  and  pious  men  it  has  seemed 
hard  to  believe  that  God  could  ever  wish  to  punish  us  for 
doing  what,  aside  from  his  special  interference,  was  well  calcu- 
lated to  promote  the  general  happiness,     And  so  they,  in 
the  second  place,  have  advanced  the  following :  We  must 
govern  ourselves  by  universal  rules.     In  every  particular 
case  there  are  so  many  conflicting  considerations  that  enter, 
that  if  we  stopped  to  weigh  them  all,  we  should  never  get 
anywhere.     It  is  easy  to  see  in  a  general  way  that  lying  is 

T 


274    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

bad.  But  in  each  case  when  the  temptation  to  lie  arises, 
to  calculate  out  all  the  possible  effects  of  veracity  and  un- 
veracity  would  be  beyond  our  understanding.  Besides,  in 
the  particular  cases  our  private  interests  or  our  personal  sym- 
pathy is  apt  to  be  aroused,  and  our  judgment  thus  disturbed. 
And,  finally,  even  if  the  rule  were  well  broken  on  one  occa- 
sion (supposing  that  to  be  the  only  exception),  still  the  habit 
of  breaking  it,  or  even  of  considering  breaking  it,  would  be 
dangerous ;  and  the  example  set  to  others,  who  perhaps  had 
not  the  opportunity  of  considering  all  the  special  circum- 
stances of  the  case,  might  easily  be  even  more  dangerous. 
Hence  we  ought  never  to  make  an  exception.  A  stock  re- 
mark of  the  conservative  hedonists  is  this :  that  bad  as  the 
present  division  of  property  among  men  is,  no  man,  and  no 
assembly  of  men,  would  be  wise  enough  to  replace  it  by  a 
better  division.1 

However,  the  first  alternative  has,  on  the  whole,  been  the 
more  popular,  and  hedonists  have  generally  been  content  to 
give  up  the  absoluteness  of  moral  values. 

(2)  Egoistic  and  Universalistic  Hedonism.  —  When  one 
considers  the  two  special  forms  of  ethical  hedonism  —  that 
which  declares  that  a  man  ought  always  to  act  so  as  to  pro- 
mote his  own  greatest  happiness,  and  that  which  declares 
that  he  ought  to  act  so  as  to  promote  the  greatest  happiness 
of  all  concerned  —  one  must  not  forget  the  assumption,  that 
happiness  is  to  be  estimated  as  an  algebraic  sum  of  pleasures 
and  pains.  If  this  assumption  be  forgotten,  the  egoistic  for- 
mula is  easily  interpreted  as  an  exhortation  to  self-improve- 
ment; while  the  universalistic  formula  becomes  practically 
an  exhortation  to  benevolence.  Now  self-improvement  and 
benevolence  are,  as  we  have  elsewhere  seen,  two  of  the  prin- 
cipal departments  of  morality.  But,  we  repeat,  it  is  not 
self-improvement  or  benevolence,  as  such,  that  is  here  in 
question,  but  two  alternative  hedonistic  interpretations  of 
moral  values. 

1  This  is  the  typical  eighteenth-century  doctrinaire  individualism. 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  275 

Either  without  the  Other  Unsatisfactory.  —  One  very 
serious  controversial  difficulty  that  each  of  these  interpreta- 
tions lies  under  is  — the  other  interpretation.  For,  some- 
how, there  has  been  a  strong  and  persistent  feeling  that  both 
ought  to  apply.  If  we  take  the  egoistic  interpretation  by 
itself,  it  strikes  us  as  being  heartless :  to  say  that  a  man  is 
justified  in  following  his  own  pleasure  regardless  of  the 
possible  misery  of  every  one  else  in  the  universe.  To  be  sure 
most  men  are  more  or  less  sympathetic,  and  hence  find  it 
impossible  to  be  happy  when  those  about  them  are  unhappy. 
But  some  men  are  very  unsympathetic ;  and  shall  we  say 
that  their  very  hardness  of  heart  is  an  excuse  for  every  act 
of  cruelty  or  neglect  that  policy  may  advise?  Grant  that 
prudence  is  an  excellent  thing :  it  does  not  seem  to  be  all 
that  we  mean  by  morality. 

But  when  we  take  the  universalistic  interpretation  by  it- 
self, the  case  is  not  much  improved.  Have  we  the  right  to 
say  that  a  man  ought  to  promote  the  general  happiness,  even 
though  his  own  everlasting  misery  should  be  the  price? 
What  if  the  net  gain  to  the  world  as  a  whole  were  very  slight, 
and  the  man's  own  misery  exceedingly  intense?  If  there 
be  any  possibility  that  virtue  may  demand  such  a  sacrifice, 
we  are  moved  to  say,  in  the  words  of  Bishop  Butler,  "  that 
when  we  sit  down  in  a  cool  hour,  we  can  neither  justify  to 
ourselves  this  or  any  other  pursuit,  till  we  are  convinced  that 
it  will  be  for  our  happiness,  or  at  least  not  contrary  to  it " 
(Sermons  on  Human  Nature,  XI). 

The  Task  of  Reconciliation.  —  And  so  the  task  is  set  of 
showing  that  the  two  interpretations  really  coincide:  that 
the  same  conduct  which  promotes  the  general  happiness  must 
also  promote  the  happiness  of  the  agent.  A  general  coin- 
cidence is  not  hard  to  make  out.  We  all  know  that  as  a 
matter  of  ordinary  experience  honesty  is  the  best  policy. 
But  is  the  coincidence  exact  and  complete?  Are  there  no 
exceptions?  Perhaps  our  religion  assures  us  that  in  a 


276    INTRODUCTION  TO   THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

future  life  all  exceptions  will  be  wiped  out;  and  then  this 
difficulty  disappears  for  us.  But  if  we  have  no  such  reli- 
gion, or  if,  as  scientific  men,  we  prefer  to  rest  our  case  on  ac- 
tual observations  of  men  and  manners,  the  difficulty  remains. 
And,  indeed,  as  controversy  has  gone  on,  hedonists  have  be- 
come more  and  more  persuaded  that  the  difficulty  is  insu- 
perable. Of  the  two  most  distinguished  hedonists  of  recent 
times,  Herbert  Spencer  and  Henry  Sidgwick,  the  former 
declared  that  only  in  an  ideal  society  could  a  man's  life  be 
made  right  both  toward  himself  and  toward  his  fellow  men ; 
while  the  latter  threw  himself  into  the  study  of  '  spiritualistic  ' 
phenomena,  hoping  to  find  empirical  proof  of  a  future  life 
in  which  the  inequalities  of  earthly  fortune  might  be  healed. 

(3)  Futility  of  the  Calculus. — Deeper  than  all  such  consid- 
erations, however,  is  the  question  of  the  practicability  of  the 
hedonistic  calculus  in  ordering  the  affairs  of  life.  We  have 
already  given  our  reasons  for  deciding  this  question  in  the 
negative.  Leaving  aside  the  question  whether  the  calcula- 
tion and  summation  of  pains  and  pleasures  is  theoretically 
possible  at  all,  the  fact  remains  that  our  actual  moral  conduct 
is  directed  after  a  completely  different  fashion.  And,  indeed, 
in  any  situation  that  is  complicated  enough  to  call  for  a  deci- 
sion of  conscience,  the  possible  pleasures  and  pains  involved 
are  so  multitudinous  that  a  pretense  of  calculation  is  at  once 
seen  to  be  a  mockery.  We  do  respect  our  fellows'  happiness, 
and  we  do  have  a  prudential  regard  for  our  own ;  but  this  is 
not  the  atomistic  happiness  of  hedonistic  theory,  made  up  of 
moments  of  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness,  but  an  organ- 
ized happiness,  made  up  of  all  manner  of  interrelated  goods. 
When,  for  example,  I  restrain  an  impulse  to  slap  an  exas- 
perating child,  think  of  the  interests  that  are  involved,  which 
the  hedonistic  calculus  would  have  to  pull  to  pieces  and  put 
together  again.  The  conceivable  pain  of  the  slap,  the  dis- 
comfort of  the  continued  annoyance,  are  only  a  beginning. 


THE  HEDONISTIC  CONTROVERSY  277 

Not  to  be  too  prolix,  there  is  the  order  of  the  household,  the 
prosecution  of  my  work,  the  child's  disposition,  his  sense 
of  justice,  the  maintenance  of  affectionate  relations  between 
him  and  me  —  and  each  of  these  opens  up  vistas  of  cause  and 
effect  that  stretch  on  endlessly. 

Hedonistic  Interpretation  of  Moral  Standards. — Hedonis- 
tic thinkers  have  come  more  and  more  to  see  the  force  of  this 
objection,  and  they  have  tried  to  meet  it  as  follows.  The  cal- 
culus of  possible  pains  and  pleasures  does  not  have  to  be  per- 
formed each  time  afresh,  as  if  it  had  never  been  performed 
before.  We  have  the  accumulated  experience  of  mankind 
for  many  centuries  to  guide  us.  For  this  is  precisely  what 
the  traditional  moral  standards  represent  —  the  standards 
that  require  of  us  truth  and  courage  and  obedience  to  author- 
ity, and  all  the  rest  of  the  long  list  of  virtues.  They  repre- 
sent precisely  the  sort  of  conduct  which  long  experience  has 
shown  to  be  most  conducive  to  the  happiness  of  the  agent 
himself  or  of  others.  On  each  particular  occasion  we  have, 
therefore,  only  to  consider  how  far  any  extraordinary  special 
circumstances  may  modify  the  force  of  the  general  precepts. 

Criticism.  —  Now  this  suggestion  comes  very  close  to  what 
is  now  very  generally  believed  to  be  the  truth  of  the  matter ; 
and  the  reader  should  bear  it  in  mind  when  he  comes  to  con- 
sider our  own  account  of  the  development  of  the  moral  senti- 
ments. But  as  a  defense  of  ethical  hedonism  it  does  not  hold. 
For  it  virtually  refers  back  to  the  past  the  hedonistic  calculus 
which  we  find  impracticable  in  the  present;  with  this  difference, 
indeed,  that  it  is  not  imagined  possible  pleasures  and  pains 
that  must,  for  the  most  part,  be  summed  up,  but  the  reported 
or  dimly  remembered  actual  pleasures  and  pains  of  multi- 
tudes of  men.  Now  it  will  not  do  to  dump  our  difficulties 
upon  the  past.  They  bulk  as  largely  there  as  in  the  present. 

Conclusion.  —  The  truth  is,  ethical  hedonism,  like  the 
whole  hedonistic  program,  savors  of  what  is  called  '  intellec- 
tualism.'  By  this  is  meant  the  tendency  to  explain  men's 


278    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

perceptions,  opinions,  and  sentiments,  and  their  consequent 
conduct,  in  terms  of  supposed  calculations  or  other  reason- 
ings, of  which  they  are  supposed  to  be  the  logical  outcome. 
It  is,  for  example,  intellectualistic  to  suppose  (as  psycholo- 
gists once  did)  that  when  a  man  meets  a  friend  and  recog- 
nizes him,  he  goes  through  a  process  of  comparing  the  present 
perception  with  a  revived  image  of  his  friend,  and  from  their 
likeness  concludes  that  they  are  to  be  referred  to  the  same 
object.  We  know  better  than  this  now.  The  process  of 
recognition  seldom  involves  any  such  comparison  or  infer- 
ence. And,  more  and  more,  scholars  are  becoming  convinced 
that  reasoning  plays  a  much  smaller  part  in  human  life  than 
has  generally  in  the  past  been  supposed.  How  this  reflec- 
tion applies  to  the  question  of  the  nature  and  development 
of  the  moral  sentiments  will,  we  trust,  be  made  sufficiently 
clear  in  the  sequel. 

REFERENCES 

GREEN,  T.  H.,  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  HI,  Ch.  I,  156-170; 

Book  IV,  Chs.  Ill,  IV. 

SIDGWICK,  H.,  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  I,  Ch.  IV;  Books  II  and  IV. 
SPENCER,  H.,  Data  of  Ethics,  Chs.  Ill,  IV,  IX. 
STEPHEN,  L.,  Science  of  Ethics,  Ch.  II,  2,  Ch.  IX. 
ALEXANDER,  S.,  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  Book  II,  Ch.  V. 
SORLEY,  W.  R.,  Ethics  of  Naturalism,  Part  I. 
RASHDALL,  H.,  Theory  of  Good  and  Evil,  Book  I,  Chs.  II,  III ;  Book 

II,  Ch.  I. 

PAULSEN,  F.,  System  of  Ethics,  Book  II,  Ch.  II. 
SETH,  J.,  Study  of  Ethical  Principles,  Part  I,  Ch.  I. 
MEZES,  S.,  Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  Ch.  XV. 
MUIRHEAD,  J.  H.,  Elements  of  Ethics,  Book  III,  Chs.  I,  III. 


PART  III 

THE  EVOLUTIONARY  THEORY  OF  MORAL 
VALUES 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  MORALITY  FOR  SOCIETY 
I.   INTRODUCTION 

Are  the  General  Moral  Predicates  Definable?  —  At  one 
time  and  another  a  good  deal  of  space  has  been  given  by 
ethicists  to  the  question  whether  the  general  moral  predi- 
cates, '  good  '  and  '  bad/  and  '  right '  and  '  wrong/  are  de- 
finable or  indefinable.  Just  now  less  importance  is  attached 
to  this  question  than  formerly,  for  the  reason  that  logicians 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  distinction  between 
the  definable  and  the  indefinable  is  not  an  absolute  one.  In 
a  mathematical  science,  such  as  geometry,  for  example,  it 
used  to  be  thought  that  certain  concepts  —  space,  position, 
direction,  distance  —  must  be  assumed  as  intrinsically  in- 
definable, and  the  other  concepts  defined  in  terms  of  these. 
But  it  is  now  known  that  one  may  use  the  greatest  freedom 
in  choosing  the  terms  that  one  shall  treat  as  indefinable ;  so 
that  the  distinction  in  question  is  seen  to  be  always  relative 
to  some  particular  arrangement  of  the  subject.  What  is 
defined  in  one  book  may  be  assumed  as  indefinable  in  another. 

They  are  Practically  Indefinable.  —  But,  putting  the 
strictly  logical  question  aside,  we  find  that  there  are  serious 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  devising  definitions  of  the  moral 
predicates  that  shall  be  really  illuminating  and  helpful,  and 
at  the  same  time  shall  not  by  implication  involve  a  whole 
mass  of  disputed  theories.  '  Good/  we  understand,  is  to 
mean  '  morally  good/  as  distinguished  from  merely  '  de- 
sirable/ or  '  good  '  in  the  widest  sense  of  the  term.  But, 
then,  we  have  to  explain  '  morally  ' ;  and,  moreover,  it  re- 

281 


282    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

mains  doubtful  whether  moral  good  is  a  kind  of  good,  com- 
prised under  the  general  conception  of  good,  or  a  special 
meaning  of  the  term  'good/  as  different,  perhaps,  from  other 
goods  as  the  bark  of  a  dog  is  from  the  bark  of  a  tree.  '  Right ' 
may  be  defined  in  terms  of  '  ought ' ;  but  how  shall  we  define 
'  ought '  except  in  terms  of  '  right '  ?  The  two  motions  are 
obviously  correlative,  one  no  more  fundamental  than  the 
other. 

The  Question  of  Function.  —  Accordingly  we  must  adopt 
some  other  mode  of  exposition,  less  direct  but  more  practi- 
cable. Instead  of  asking  at  once  what  the  meaning  of  the 
moral  predicates  is,  let  us  ask  what  the  function  of  morality 
is  —  what  the  part  is  that  it  plays  in  the  life  of  the  individ- 
ual and  in  that  of  society.  It  will  be  convenient  for  us  to 
consider  the  social  aspect  of  the  question  first,  the  individual 
aspect  being  postponed  to  the  following  chapter. 

II.  MORALITY  AND  SOCIAL  WELFARE 

The  General  Rule.  —  It  is  a  very  old  and  trite  observation, 
that  morality  is  of  great  advantage  to  any  society.  Courage, 
honesty,  and  thrift  defend  it  from  enemies  without  and  within. 
Other  things  being  equal,  the  family  or  community  or  state 
in  which  temperate  living  is  the  rule  is  the  successful  rival, 
both  in  war  and  in  peace,  of  that  in  which  undisciplined 
self-indulgence  prevails.  Protagoras,  it  will  be  remembered, 
pointed  out  that  without  the  moral  sentiments  of  justice 
and  self-respect  no  organized  society  can  hold  together ;  and 
the  truth  of  this  can  easily  be  seen,  even  in  the  case  of  societies 
whose  most  prominent  aims  are  immoral.  "  Honor  among 
thieves  "  is  proverbial ;  and  the  pirate  crew,  that  flaunts 
the  red  flag  in  the  face  of  all  the  laws  of  Christendom,  must 
have  laws  of  its  own  and  an  iron  discipline  in  their 
observance. 

Speaking  generally,  then,  we  may  say  that  morality  is  very 
useful  to  society  and  that  some  degree  or  amount  of  it  is  ab- 


SIGNIFICANCE  OF  MORALITY  FOR  SOCIETY      283 

solutely  essential  to  the  existence  of  society.  This  general 
statement,  of  course,  leaves  room  for  all  manner  of  particu- 
lar exceptions.  It  may  still  be  true  that  some  comparatively 
bad  men  are  more  useful  to  society  than  some  better  men ; 
or  that  some  evil  action  may  result  in  a  higher  social  wel- 
fare than  the  right  and  proper  alternative  could  have  brought 
about;  or,  again,  that  in  a  struggle  between  two  societies 
the  less  moral  may  triumph.  Such  cases  may  or  may  not 
occur.  They  often  seem  to  occur,  though  some  moralists 
have  doubted  or  denied  their  reality.  But  whether  they 
occur  or  not  our  general  proposition  is  unaffected.  As  a 
general  rule,  the  right  is  profitable  and  the  wrong  is  unprofit- 
able—  if  not  to  the  moral  agent  himself,  at  least  to  the 
society  of  which  he  is  a  member. 

The  Case  of  Justice.  —  All  this  is  strikingly  clear  where 
the  alternatives  of  justice  and  injustice  are  in  question. 
In  the  distribution  of  property,  it  often  seems  as  if  the 
interests  of  society  would  be  much  better  served  if  one 
could  simply  ignore  for  a  time  the  right  and  wrong  of  the 
matter.  In  a  railway  accident  a  wealthy  man  and  his  wife 
are  killed,  and  a  lawsuit  over  the  estate  arises  between 
their  relatives.  If  he  died  first,  the  property  passed  to 
her,  and  so  goes  now  to  her  family ;  if  not,  it  goes  to  his 
family.  The  former  are  worthy  people  in  straightened  cir- 
cumstances; the  latter  are  already  immensely  wealthy. 
The  evidence  in  the  case  is  scant  and  uncertain ;  but,  in  the 
judge's  opinion,  there  is  a  slight  presumption  that  the  wife 
died  first,  and  he  decides  accordingly.  His  action,  we  say, 
is  just  and  right ;  but  would  not  a  more  desirable  distribu- 
tion of  property  be  secured  if  he  silenced  his  moral  principles 
and  gave  his  decision  the  other  way?  There  might,  it  is 
true,  be  some  popular  suspicion  as  to  his  motives  that  would 
tend  to  destroy  confidence  in  him  and  perhaps  also  in  the 
bench  generally;  but  there  might  not.  He  himself  might 
fall  into  a  habit  of  allowing  his  judgment  to  be  warped  by  his 


284    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

sympathies;  but,  again,  he  might  not.  But  if  judges  in 
general  should  set  their  sympathies  above  the  law,  there 
would  be  no  doubt  about  the  social  injury  that  their  evil 
practice  would  cause.  Beneficial  as  the  single  act  of  injustice 
might  be  or  appear,  widespread  injustice  would  work  ruin. 

Are  Some  Moral  Rules  Hurtful  ?  —  Sometimes,  however, 
the  general  observance  of  a  moral  rule  seems  to  many  ob- 
servers to  be  exceedingly  undesirable.  Not  only  in  particu- 
lar instances,  but  in  the  sum  total  of  instances,  it  seems  to 
them  as  if  conformity  did  more  harm  than  good  —  or,  at 
least,  as  if  conformity  to  a  different  rule  would  result  in  a 
larger  balance  of  good.  In  many  instances  the  accepted 
rule  works  well  enough ;  but  the  number  and  importance  of 
the  instances  in  which  it  works  ill  is  so  great  that  it  seems 
incorrect  to  set  them  down  as  mere  exceptions.  They 
threaten  the  value  of  the  rule  itself. 

Such  a  rule  is  this :  Give  every  man  his  due;  which  is  inter- 
preted to  mean :  Return  good  for  good  and  evil  for  evil;  or, 
in  the  biblical  phrase,  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  and  hate 
thine  enemy.  It  is  a  venerable  maxim,  which  has  been  widely 
reverenced  and  followed.  To  thousands  upon  thousands  of 
men  its  soundness  and  justice  have  been  perfectly  manifest. 
Yet  thoughtful  observers  can  see  limits  to  its  usefulness.  To 
return  evil  for  evil  invites  further  retaliation.  Hate  increases 
hate,  and  the  gust  of  passion  becomes  a  deep  and  abiding 
rancor.  But  enemies  must  be  constantly  on  guard  against 
each  other ;  and  this  is  a  strain  upon  the  resources  which  they 
might  otherwise  devote  to  useful  ends,  and  is  thus  a  hindrance 
to  normal  social  development ;  whereas  friendship  and  mutual 
helpfulness  are  the  most  potent  instrumentalities  of  culture. 
Can  these  facts  be  regarded  as  merely  exceptional  considera- 
tions ? 

Such  Rules  have  once  seemed  Advantageous.  —  But  it 
must  be  observed,  with  respect  to  these  moral  standards  whose 
social  value  is  called  in  question,  that  in  times  past  the  evil 


SIGNIFICANCE  OF  MORALITY  FOR  SOCIETY      285 

consequences  which  their  observance  entailed  were  much 
less  in  magnitude,  or  at  any  rate  much  less  obvious,  than 
has  since  been  the  case.  Though  ill  adapted  to  present  con- 
ditions, they  were  excellently  adapted  to  former  conditions ; 
or,  to  speak  more  guardedly,  their  shortcomings  were  not 
such  as  the  men  of  an  older  time  readily  appreciated.  Let 
us  return  to  the  illustration  which  we  have  just  used.  In  a 
military  civilization  —  i.e.  where  war  is  always  either  actual 
or  imminent  —  a  good  hater  has  a  very  evident  value.  The 
man  who  can  be  counted  on  to  strike  back  and  to  put  his 
heart  into  the  blow  is  a  man  whom  one  hesitates  to  attack. 
A  common  hatred  even  brings  men  together,  and  indeed  has 
been  one  of  the  great  influences  leading  to  the  formation  of 
the  larger  social  groups.  Enmity,  though  itself  a  form  of 
disunion,  may  thus  be  a  source  of  union  and  strength.  On 
the  other  hand,  a  man  who  will  not  fight  for  his  own  rights 
can  scarcely  be  expected  to  fight  for  his  friends*  rights,  and 
so  he  will  have  few  friends.  The  same  is,  of  course,  true  of 
the  family,  the  tribe,  and  the  state.  It  is,  therefore,  not 
hard  to  see  why  a  revengeful  spirit  should  long  have  been 
counted  among  the  virtues. 

Their  Influence  is  Declining.  —  Furthermore,  when  a 
standard  has  lost  its  real  or  apparent  social  utility,  it  tends 
to  lose  its  hold  upon  men's  respect,  and  to  be  gradually  sup- 
planted by  some  modification  more  in  accordance  with  the 
finer  requirements  of  the  new  conditions.  Sooner  or  later 
some  moral  reformer  cries  out :  "It  has  been  said  unto  you 
by  men  of  old  time  .  .  .  but  I  say  unto  you  ..."  And 
though  many  men  may  long  continue  to  regard  him  as  an 
impractical  idealist,  the  consciences  of  an  increasing  number 
acknowledge  the  new  claim  which  he  has  laid  upon  their 
obedience.  The  reform  may  be  ultimately  unsuccessful. 
It  may  never  win  general  support.  Or  it  may  be  so  com- 
pletely triumphant  that  men  will  no  longer  realize  that  the 
older,  cruder  moral  standard  ever  held  sway. 


286    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Summary.  —  Accordingly,  the  moral  standards  to  be 
found  at  any  time  in  a  society  may  be  divided  into  three 
classes :  first,  the  great  body  of  rules  and  ideals  upon  which 
the  welfare,  and  even  the  existence,  of  society  rests ;  sec- 
ondly, those  which  have  in  times  past  been  similarly  useful, 
but  now  reveal  serious  shortcomings;  and,  thirdly,  the 
newer  standards  which  changing  needs  have  brought  forth, 
but  which  have  not  yet  won  general  recognition. 

III.  SOCIAL  INTERCOURSE 

Let  us  now  ask  the  deeper  question :  In  what  does  this 
social  utility  of  morality  consist?  What  manner  of  service 
does  it  perform?  We  have  already  anticipated  the  answer 
to  this  question,  as,  indeed,  we  could  scarcely  help  doing; 
but  it  must  be  set  forth  explicitly.  With  this  object  in  view 
we  will  here  take  note  of  a  few  important  truths  with  regard 
to  the  nature  of  societies. 

Society  more  than  an  Aggregate.  —  A  society,  as  we  well 
know,  is  not  a  mere  aggregate  of  individuals  that  happen  to 
be  living  together  in  the  same  place.  It  is  true  that,  gen- 
erally speaking,  the  members  of  a  society  must,  at  least  at 
certain  times,  come  together ;  but  this  requirement,  though 
necessary,  is  not  sufficient.  This  is  easily  seen  in  the  case 
of  any  particular  form  of  social  organization.  Take  the 
family,  for  instance.  It  is  possible  for  a  domestic  servant  to 
live  in  a  house  for  months  or  even  years,  and  never  become 
a  member  of  the  family ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  he  or  she 
may  be  '  taken  into  the  family  '  almost  at  the  outset.  Simi- 
larly in  the  case  of  polite  society :  one  may  long  be  a  dweller 
in  the  midst  of  it,  and  even  be  constantly  endeavoring  to 
force  one's  way  into  membership,  and  yet  remain  permanently 
excluded.  And  so  it  is  with  society  at  large.  French  sol- 
diers were  garrisoned  for  months  in  the  city  of  Moscow; 
but  they  did  not  become  in  any  sense  members  of  the 
community. 


SIGNIFICANCE  OF  MORALITY  FOR  SOCIETY      287 

In  the  same  way,  the  possession  of  a  common  language  is 
commonly  necessary  for  membership  in  the  same  society; 
but  this,  too,  is  seldom  or  never  a  sufficient  condition. 

Analogy  of  the  Animal  Organism.  —  A  society  is  often 
compared  to  an  animal  organism,  and  social  intercourse 
to  the  life  of  the  organism.  Few  comparisons  are  more  help- 
ful and  none  is  more  dangerous.  Just  because  it  is  so  sugges- 
tive, we  are  easily  tempted  to  carry  it  too  far.  We  can  find 
analogies  for  cells  and  tissues  and  organs ;  for  nutrition,  the 
circulation  of  the  blood,  nervous  activity,  reproduction, 
growth,  and  decay.  For  individuals  are  like  cells;  classes 
and  conditions  of  men  are  like  tissues;  courts  and  schools 
and  armies  are  like  organs.  Society  transforms  raw  materials 
into  forms  suitable  for  its  use ;  it  has  its  channels  of  trade, 
and  its  lines  of  communication  and  control;  it  throws  off 
colonies ;  it  increases  in  size  and  strength  and  range  of  ac- 
tivity; and  it  shrinks  and  shrivels  into  significance.  To 
follow  out  these  analogies  in  detail  is  a  most  valuable  exercise. 
The  attention  is  sharpened,  and  is  directed  toward  features 
of  social  organization  which  might  otherwise  be  unnoticed ; 
and,  in  fact,  it  is  under  the  guidance  of  such  analogies  that 
a  great  part  of  our  knowledge  of  society  has  been  acquired. 

Failure  of  the  Analogy.  —  But  let  us  note,  hi  the  first 
place,  that  the  human  individual  stands  in  a  very  different 
relation  to  the  classes  and  institutions  of  society,  from  that 
hi  which  the  body  cell  stands  to  the  tissues  and  organs  of 
the  individual  body.  The  cell  is  definitely  of  one  sort  or 
another,  and  of  only  one  sort.  It  may  be  nerve  cell  or  muscle 
cell,  for  instance;  but  it  cannot  be  both  at  once.  And, 
similarly,  if  it  is  a  part  of  one  organ,  it  cannot  be  part  of 
another.  But  the  individual  man  belongs  to  one  class  by 
his  occupation,  to  another  by  his  religion,  to  another  by 
reason  of  his  aesthetic  culture,  etc.  And  he  may  be  at  the 
same  time  member  of  a  family,  a  business  firm,  a  church,  a 
musical  club,  a  political  organization,  etc.  Man,  especially 


288    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

civilized  man,  is  of  a  many-sided  nature;  and  each  side 
connects  him  differently  with  his  fellows. 

The  Extent  of  a  Society.  —  Let  us  note,  in  the  second 
place,  the  ambiguity  of  the  term  '  society.'  It  may  stand 
for  any  one  of  the  many  organizations  to  which  a  man  may 
belong.  Or  it  may  stand  for  the  organization  made  up  of  all 
these  organizations,  for  the  complex  unity  made  up  of  a  mul- 
titude of  men  bound  together  in  any  or  all  of  the  ways  in 
which  men  are  bound  together.  It  is  evident  that  in  this 
latter  sense  one  society  is  rarely  marked  off  sharply  from 
another.  National  boundary  lines  must  not  deceive  us.  In 
some  respects  the  society  to  which  a  man  belongs  may  be 
confined  to  a  single  village.  In  other  respects  it  may  over- 
spread many  nations.  Here,  then,  is  a  second  important 
respect  in  which  the  analogy  with  the  animal  organism 
breaks  down.  A  society  extends  as  far  as  social  intercourse 
extends.  Where  means  of  transportation  and  communication 
fail,  the  society  stops ;  and  thus  under  primitive  conditions 
societies  are  apt  to  be  far  more  definitely  separated  than 
is  the  case  with  us.  The  railroad,  the  steamship,  and  the 
electric  telegraph  have  so  enlarged  the  possibilities  of  social 
intercourse,  that  the  whole  world  is  rapidly  becoming  one 
society. 

Elements  of  Social  Intercourse.  —  But  what  is  social  in- 
tercourse? An  answer  to  this  question  would  have  positive 
significance  for  us  —  not  merely  the  negative  value  of  a 
distinction  between  society  and  the  organism.  Several  ele- 
ments can  easily  be  recognized.  First,  there  is  interchange 
of  services.  We  say '  interchange/  for  although  certain  mem- 
bers of  a  society,  the  babes  and  the  helpless  invalids  and  the 
old  men  and  women,  are,  during  a  limited  period,  merely 
recipients  of  services,  yet  normally  some  payment  in  kind 
will  be  or  has  been  made.  The  idle  rich  may  also  be  thought 
to  be  exceptions.  But  a  moment's  reflection  recalls  the  fact, 
that,  though  such  persons  are  of  no  use  to  the  world  at  large, 


SIGNIFICANCE  OF  MORALITY  FOR  SOCIETY      289 

they  do  perform  a  variety  of  services  for  each  other;  and 
these  strictly  confined  mutual  services  mark  them  out  as  a 
distinct  class. 

Secondly,  there  is  interchange  of  goods.  This,  indeed, 
might  easily  be  included  under  the  first  heading,  as  an  indi- 
rect exchange  of  services.  There  is  an  important  difference, 
however,  for  which  our  terminology  ought  in  some  way  to 
provide.  A  man  often  works  for  a  lifetime,  without  ever 
forming  the  least  acquaintance  with  any  one  of  those  who 
enjoy  the  products  of  his  labor.  These  pass  from  hand 
to  hand  indefinitely,  and  personal  contact  is  utterly  lost. 
Whereas,  then,  in  the  direct  interchange  of  services  the  con- 
nection that  is  established  is  physical  and  psychical  at  once, 
in  the  interchange  of  goods  the  physical  connection  stretches 
on  continuously,  while  the  psychological  connection  is  con- 
stantly broken.  Still,  the  distinction  is  not  a  sharp  one. 
There  are  public  services  of  many  kinds,  both  in  war  and  in 
peace,  where  the  personal  acquaintance  between  those  who 
labor  and  those  who  enjoy  has  a  very  limited  range  indeed  — 
becomes,  in  fact,  merely  symbolic. 

Thirdly,  there  is  interchange  of  ideas  —  that  is  to  say,  of 
conceptions  and  beliefs.  And,  fourthly,  there  is  interchange 
of  sentiments  —  which  is  as  much  as  to  say,  of  the  valuations 
habitually  set  upon  things.  Here,  again,  these  two  kinds 
might  easily  be  consolidated  into  one ;  and  we  prefer  to  sepa- 
rate them  only  because  the  latter  head  is,  as  will  soon  appear, 
particularly  important. 

Importance  of  a  Common  Language.  —  It  is,  of  course,  for 
the  communication  of  ideas  and  sentiments  that  a  common 
language  is  so  important.  Translators  and  interpreters  can 
effect  much,  but  can  never  wholly  wipe  out  a  linguistic 
barrier.  A  religious  movement,  for  example,  like  the  spread 
of  Methodism  or  of  Christian  Science,  may  assume  powerful 
proportions  in  English-speaking  countries,  and  cause  scarcely 
a  ripple  of  excitement  outside.  The  Elizabethan  drama  ran 


290    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

its  course  in  England,  and  nearly  two  centuries  elapsed  be- 
fore its  influence  upon  the  German  drama  showed  itself  of 
decisive  importance.  By  the  time  the  demand  for  trans- 
lation comes,  a  movement  must  have  already  gained  consider- 
able importance  in  its  mother  tongue ;  and  the  demand  may 
never  come.  In  Germany,  in  the  half  century  following  the 
publication  of  Kant's  Critique  of  Pure  Reason  (1781),  there 
was  a  philosophical  activity  such  as  the  world  has  seldom 
known.  But  during  that  time  its  influence  outside  of  Ger- 
many was  very  feeble ;  and  even  down  to  our  own  day  the 
natural  philosophy  of  Schelling  and  the  metaphysics  of  Her- 
bart  (two  of  the  greatest  geniuses  of  the  period)  have  been 
almost  entirely  without  foreign  influence. 

In  the  interchange  of  sentiments,  language  is  perhaps  of 
less  importance  than  conduct  —  the  observable  preferences 
which  men  display  for  one  state  of  things  as  against  another. 
At  any  rate,  language  alone  can  effect  little.  Our  expressed 
admiration  for  a  symphony  will  do  little  for  its  success,  if  we 
are  not  willing  to  stop  and  listen  to  it.  Our  outspoken  con- 
demnation of  an  act  of  injustice  will  go  for  naught,  if  we 
promptly  commit  a  similar  injustice  at  the  first  opportunity. 
This  is  in  line  with  what  the  adage  says :  that  "  actions  speak 
louder  than  words."  They  not  only  express  one's  sense  of 
values  more  unmistakably,  but  they  are  far  more  likely  to 
awaken  a  similar  appreciation  in  others. 

Interchange  of  Sentiments  fundamentally  Important.  — 
All  these  four  varieties  of  intercourse  —  the  interchange  of 
services,  goods,  ideas,  and  sentiments  —  are  inseparable  from 
the  existence  of  society.  But  if  any  one  is  of  predominant 
importance,  it  is  the  last.  Trade  and  commerce  are,  as  we 
have  pointed  out,  an  imperfect  mode  of  union.  Ideas  to 
which  no  sentiments  attach  do  not  receive  any  persistent 
attention.  And  as  for  mutual  services,  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
generally  some  common  sentiment  underlies  them.  Each  man 
concerned  must,  in  some  way,  take  an  interest  in  the  others' 


SIGNIFICANCE  OF  MORALITY  FOR  SOCIETY      291 

welfare ;  and  when  one  man  does  something  for  another,  the 
doer  must  (in  the  vast  majority  of  instances)  think  the  favor 
worth  the  pains,  and  also  expect  that  it  will  be  appreciated 
by  the  recipient.  We  do  not  intentionally  cast  pearls  before 
swine,  or  play  sonatas  for  those  who  are  tone  deaf,  or  read 
poetry  to  one  whose  comment  will  be :  "  What  does  that 
prove?  "  We  may  further  say  that  common  sentiments  are 
a  direct  cause  of  mutual  services.  The  things  and  relations 
that  men  value  may  be  divided  into  two  classes :  those  which 
they  enjoy  in  common  or  without  mutual  deprivation,  such 
as  good  roads,  good  police  protection,  good  literature,  good 
religion ;  and  those  which  they  enjoy  exclusively,  and  for  the 
possession  of  which  they  compete.  That  the  former  may 
be  possible  to  them,  they  must  cooperate.  But  even  for  the 
latter,  cooperation  in  some  form  is  necessary,  in  order  that 
the  struggle  for  exclusive  possession  may  not  end  in  all  being 
alike  destitute.  Common  sentiments  and  mutual  services 
are  thus  approximately  coextensive,  and  the  former  are  the 
prevailing  cause  of  the  latter.  Thus  the  interchange  of  sen- 
timents, by  which  community  in  them  is  established,  may 
well  be  regarded  as  the  fundamental  part  of  social  inter- 
course. 

Sympathy.  —  How  the  sentiments  are  communicated  from 
man  to  man  is  a  question  that  we  shall  have  to  consider 
carefully  in  a  later  chapter.  Here  we  must  be  content  with 
the  common-sense  observation  that  it  depends  upon  sympathy, 
the  tendency  which  men  show  to  feel  emotions  similar  to 
those  which  are  felt  by  others  around  them.  Where  men 
sympathize  with  each  other  in  their  joys  and  sorrows,  their 
pride  and  fear  and  love  and  indignation,  there  somehow  a 
community  of  sentiments  extends  and  some  form  of  social 
organization  prevails. 

The  Common  Good.  —  This  doctrine,  that  the  basis  of 
social  unity  is  community  of  sentiments,  is  often  expressed 
in  the  equivalent  form,  that  every  social  bond  implies  a  com- 


292    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

mon  good.  Perhaps  in  this  form  it  is  easier  to  trace  it 
through  its  manifold  applications.  The  common  good  may 
be  a  piece  of  material  property;  or  it  may  be  as  abstract 
and  impalpable  as  religious  liberty.  In  the  family  the  num- 
ber of  such  goods  is  very  great  indeed  —  so  great  as  to  defy 
classification.  In  such  a  specialized  institution  as  a  school 
there  is  but  one,  or  a  few  closely  associated  principal  goods, 
although  about  these  a  variety  of  lesser  goods  are  likely 
to  cluster.  In  the  huge  and  complex  university,  the  unity 
of  interests  is  in  danger  of  being  lost,  unless  the  sharing  of 
its  name  and  the  common  pride  in  its  student  activities  (in 
which  members  of  all  departments  take  part)  suffice  to  hold 
it  together.  In  the  state  there  are  a  multitude  of  common 
goods,  but  all  are  centered  in  one :  the  maintenance  of  jus- 
tice. When  in  any  state  a  manifest  injustice  is  done  to  any 
of  its  citizens,  and  remains  unredressed,  every  citizen  that 
is  worthy  of  the  name  feels  himself  assailed.  For  though 
the  original  offense  may  affect  the  injured  man  alone,  or 
perhaps  some  few  who  are  moved  to  pity  for  the  suffering 
he  may  have  to  endure,  the  miscarriage  of  justice  is  an  evil 
to  every  man  alike.  A  '  sentimental '  evil  ?  Yes ;  but 
not  more  sentimental  than  most  of  the  other  goods  or  evils 
that  make  life  worth  living  or  rob  it  of  its  sweetness. 

IV.   THE  RELATION  OF  MORALITY  TO  SOCIAL  INTERCOURSE 

Morality  a  Condition  of  Intercourse.  —  Let  us  now  return 
to  the  question  which  was  raised  with  respect  to  the  nature 
of  the  social  utility  of  morality,  a  question  which  we  may 
now  phrase :  How  does  morality  affect  the  interchange  of 
services,  of  goods,  and  of  ideas  and  sentiments?  or,  in  the 
reverse  form :  How  does  immorality  affect  the  interchange 
of  these  things?  The  answer  is  obvious.  Immorality 
checks,  retards,  or  puts  an  entire  stop  to  social  intercourse, 
while  morality  facilitates  it. 

Consider  some  examples.    What  effect  has  dishonesty  upon 


SIGNIFICANCE  OF  MORALITY  FOR  SOCIETY      293 

the  interchange  of  goods?  By  impairing  credit,  it  tends  to 
limit  exchange  to  the  occasions  when  the  goods  can  be  im- 
mediately delivered  on  both  sides,  or  an  iron-clad  security 
can  be  given  for  future  delivery ;  and  where  this  extreme 
is  not  reached,  the  added  risk  shows  itself  in  exaggerated 
demands.  What  is  the  effect  of  intemperance  upon  the 
interchange  of  sentiments?  The  intemperate  man,  with 
his  whole  attention  absorbed  by  a  few  overmastering  desires, 
simply  cuts  himself  off  from  the  great  mass  of  human  inter- 
ests. He  inevitably  impoverishes  his  life.  In  like  manner, 
the  coward  is  unfitted  by  his  vice  to  take  a  normal  view  of  a 
multitude  of  enterprizes  to  which  powerful  sentiments  at- 
tach :  war,  sport,  and  even  many  business  activities.  What 
is  the  effect  of  lying  upon  friendship?  What  is  the  effect 
of  selfishness  and  cruelty  upon  the  relations  of  husband  and 
wife  ?  And,  in  a  larger  field,  what  is  the  effect  upon  a  man's 
relations  with  his  fellow-citizens,  of  a  life  of  ruthless  com- 
mercial brigandage?  Such  questions  do  not  have  to  be  an- 
swered one  by  one.  Immorality  of  every  kind  necessarily 
produces  isolation;  and  if  we  should  stop  to  inquire  about 
the  effect  of  cruelty  and  ingratitude  and  insincerity  upon 
the  interchange  of  services  and  ideas,  we  should  be  led  to  an 
identical  conclusion.  The  proverbial  loneliness  of  the  tyrant 
—  lonely  in  the  midst  of  his  servants,  his  favorites,  and  his 
concubines  —  is  simply  an  extreme  instance  of  the  workings 
of  the  universal  law. 

Incidental  Exceptions.  —  It  is  true  that  incidentally  a  con- 
trary effect  may  be  produced.  Any  common  interest  what- 
soever may  bring  men  together,  and  the  satisfaction  of  a 
vicious  inclination  will  serve  the  turn.  But  the  universal 
and  necessary  effect  is  not  thereby  eliminated.  Though  a 
little  society  is  formed,  the  rupture  with  the  larger  society 
remains.  And  even  within  the  little  society  of  inebriates  or 
gamblers  or  aristocratic  parasites,  it  is  the  moral  qualities 
which  they  possess  that  form  the  real  connection  between 


294    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

them.  Drunkards,  for  example,  may  be  generous  and  kindly 
men.  Gamblers  may  be  (according  to  the  conventions  of 
the  game)  honest  and  honorable  men.  The  national  vice  of 
the  Filipinos,  against  which  their  great  leaders  have  inef- 
fectually protested,  is  cock-fighting,  with  the  attendant 
gambling.  But  they  have  no  stakeholders.  The  man  who 
wishes  to  place  a  bet  simply  goes  about  offering  his  money 
to  any  one  who  will  take  it,  until  some  one  accepts.  If  he 
loses,  the  money  stays  where  it  is.  If  he  wins,  it  is  handed 
back  to  him  with  the  proper  addition.  An  American  soldier, 
who  was  out  of  cash,  once  accepted  forty  pesos  from  the  mayor 
of  a  Filipino  town,  on  a  wager  of  this  sort.  By  good  fortune 
he  won ;  but  if  he  had  lost,  it  would  have  made  the  name  of 
American  infamous  throughout  the  countryside,  and  would 
have  put  a  serious  obstacle  to  further  gambling  between 
Americans  and  Filipinos. 

"  Only  the  good  are  friends,"  was  an  accepted  principle 
among  the  Greek  ethicists.  True  enough ;  except  that  good 
men  and  bad  men  are  by  no  means  so  sharply  distinguished 
as  some  of  the  ancients  supposed.  If  we  phrase  it  with  an 
1  in  so  far  as  '  —  "  It  is  only  in  so  far  as  men  are  good  that 
they  can  be  friends  "  —  it  expresses  an  indubitable  truth. 

Incidentally,  too,  morality  may  cause  division  between 
men.  Any  marked  difference  in  sentiments  —  aesthetic,  re- 
ligious, political,  or  what-not  —  which  makes  men  disagree- 
able to  each  other,  puts  them  out  of  sympathy,  and  so  inter- 
feres with  the  interchange  of  sentiments  of  any  kind;  and 
a  difference  in  moral  sentiments  may  have  this  effect.  "  Be 
good,  and  you  will  be  lonesome,"  said  the  great  humorist; 
but  he  meant  by  being  good,  holding  oneself  severely  aloof 
from  the  pleasures  that  men  ordinarily  consider  innocent  or 
nearly  so.  But  in  such  cases  what  generally  does  the  harm 
is  not  a  mere  difference  of  moral  sentiments,  but  moral 
intolerance,  priggishness.  A  man's  unwillingness  to  smoke, 
because  he  thinks  that  smoking  is  wrong,  will  not  necessarily 


SIGNIFICANCE  OF  MORALITY  FOR  SOCIETY     295 

put  any  bar  between  him  and  the  common  run  of  smoking 
men,  provided  he  respects  the  sincerity  of  their  contrary 
opinion.  We  must  be  on  our  guard,  therefore,  against  at- 
tributing to  morality  an  effect  which  is  really  due  to  a  subtle 
form  of  immorality. 

Conclusion.  —  After  making  due  allowance  for  these  sec- 
ondary phenomena,  we  are  brought  back  to  the  general 
principle :  that  the  social  significance  of  morality  is  that  it 
facilitates  social  intercourse,  while  immorality  checks  or 
prevents  it.  A  greater  importance  could  hardly  be  ascribed 
to  the  distinction.  For  it  makes  morality  an  essential  con- 
dition for  the  existence  of  any  social  values  whatsoever,  that 
is  to  say,  of  any  common  good ;  or,  what  amounts  to  the  same 
thing,  an  essential  condition  of  the  existence  of  society  itself. 


REFERENCES 

SPENCER,  H.,  Data  of  Ethics,  Ch.  VIII. 

STEPHEN,  L.,  Science  of  Ethics,  Chs.  III-V. 

CLIFFORD,  W.  K,  Lectures  and  Essays:  On  the  Scientific  Basis  of 

Morals,  and  Right  and  Wrong. 
WUNDT,  W.,  Ethics,  Part  III,  Ch.  I,  Sect.  II. 
BOSANQUET,  B.,  Philosophical  Theory  of  the  State,  Chs.  V,  VII. 
MACKENZIE,  J.  S.,  Manual  of  Ethics,  Book  III,  Chs.  I,  II. 
MUIRHEAD,  J.  H.,  Ekments  of  Ethics,  Book  II,  Ch.  I. 


CHAPTER  XV 

CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND  ^VALUE 
I.  MORALITY  AND  INDIVIDUAL  WELFARE 

Effect  of  Morality  on  Other  Individuals.  —  That,  as  a 
general  rule,  the  better  men  are  the  happier  they  make  those 
about  them,  is  a  proposition  that  no  one  seriously  denies. 
Sometimes  the  good  man  interferes  with  the  immoral  pleas- 
ures of  others,  or  (through  an  error  of  judgment)  even  with 
their  innocent  pleasures ;  and  he  may  make  a  decided  nui- 
sance of  himself  by  ill-advised  attempts  at  discipline  or 
charity.  And  sometimes,  too,  the  bad  man  gives  a  good  deal 
of  pleasure  to  others  by  his  very  badness.  But,  when  all 
such  admissions  have  been  made,  we  are  well  aware  that  the 
truth  of  the  general  principle  remains  unaffected.  Some  men 
(as  we  recall)  have  held  that  all  morality  is  reducible  to  be- 
nevolence, the  desire  to  make  other  men  happier.  Whether 
this  is  true  or  not,  the  general  effect  of  morality  is  certainly 
to  make  others  happier.  To  the  direct  working  out  of  benev- 
olent intentions  must  be  added  the  indirect  benefit  that  comes 
from  the  facilitation  of  social  intercourse,  and,  above  all, 
from  the  tendency  of  good  men  to  make  others  like  them- 
selves, and  so  happier. 

Are  Good  Men  themselves  made  Happier?  —  For  this 
also  is  true :  that,  in  general,  good  men  are  happier  than 
bad  men,  and  that  the  better  men  are  the  happier  they  are. 
But  this  proposition  is  not  nearly  so  obvious  as  the  foregoing, 
and  demands  a  thoroughgoing  examination.  It  is  easy  to 
dispute,  and  is  sometimes  disputed ;  and  to  give  a  formal 
demonstration  of  it  that  carries  any  conviction  is  most  difficult. 
We  cannot  compile  graded  lists  of  moral  and  immoral  men, 

296 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND  VALUE       297 

and  of  happy  and  unhappy  men,  and  then  by  comparison 
determine  how  far  the  gradations  run  parallel.  One  of  us 
cannot  even  prove  in  this  fashion  that  he  is  himself  happier 
when  he  is  good  than  when  he  is  bad ;  for  nothing  is  more 
deceptive  than  our  impression  of  our  former  joys  and  sorrows. 
These  may  be  deepened  or  effaced  or  distorted  to  such  an 
extent  that  it  is  dangerous  to  admit  them  into  evidence. 
Propositions  of  this  sort,  maxims  of  common  human  wis- 
dom, are  the  net  result  of  an  age-long  experience  of  untold 
multitudes  of  men,  —  now  confirmed,  now  contradicted,  and 
again  confirmed  or  contradicted,  — so  that  the  judgment  that 
prevails  is  the  resultant  of  innumerable  petty  forces  which 
no  pen  can  record.  That  is  why  they  are  so  easily  disputed ; 
for  while  the  (real  or  apparent)  exceptions  may  be  unimpor- 
tant in  the  great  total,  they  are  very  numerous  in  them- 
selves ;  and  a  few  striking  instances  can  always  be  cited  to 
make  out  a  case  for  the  dissentient. 

A  favorite  ancient  example  of  a  good  man  made  miserable 
by  his  excessive  goodness  is  Regulus,  tortured  by  the  Cartha- 
ginians. He  would  not  advise  the  Romans  to  make  peace 
(as  his  Carthaginian  captors  wished),  and  he  would  not  break 
his  promise  to  return  to  Carthage  if  peace  were  not  declared. 
The  latter  course,  since  it  could  not  be  kept  concealed,  would 
have  brought  him  into  public  contempt,  and  so  might  well 
have  made  him  miserable  —  though  hardly  more  miserable 
than  the  awful  tortures.  But  he  might  easily  have  concealed 
his  opinion.  It  was  easy  to  argue  for  peace ;  in  fact  the  great 
majority  of  the  Romans  were  strongly  inclined  to  favor  it. 
And  though  his  secret  conscience  might  still  have  troubled 
him  for  a  time,  that  sting  would  eventually  have  died  out, 
and  he  would  have  ended  by  persuading  himself  that  very 
likely  he  had  acted  for  the  best  anyhow.  An  unscrupulous 
man  could  cheerfully  have  chosen  the  easy  and  comfortable 
course,  and  would  not  even  have  had  to  pay  the  penalty 
of  a  restive  conscience  afterwards. 


298    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Are  the  Good  necessarily  Happy  ?  —  However,  when  we 
look  carefully  into  the  dispute,  we  find  that  the  general  truth 
of  the  principle  is  seldom  called  in  question.  It  is  the  number 
and  importance  of  the  exceptions  that  disagreement  turns  on. 
Certain  extremists,  like  the  stoics,  have  held  that  moral 
goodness  and  happiness  are  absolutely  coextensive,  or  rather 
are  simply  different  names  or  different  aspects  of  the  same 
thing ;  while  many  others,  though  admitting  the  distinction, 
have  maintained  that  in  the  long  run  virtue  must  lead  to 
happiness  and  vice  must  lead  to  misery.  But  the  argu- 
ments (where  there  are  any)  for  these  contentions  are  either 
metaphysical  or  religious ;  and  hence  are  restricted  in  their 
appeal  to  men  of  a  similar  metaphysical  or  religious  bias. 
Common  experience  does  not  support  them.  Even  were  the 
extreme  position  perfectly  true,  our  observations  are  so  far 
from  being  full  and  exact  that  we  should  never  be  able  to 
demonstrate  its  correctness.  To  be  sure,  we  cannot  refute 
it.  The  dogmatic  believer  can  always  refer  to  secret  pangs 
of  remorse  or  to  a  purgatory  or  hell  awaiting  the  wicked  in 
the  hereafter ;  and  so  one  can  prove  that  he  is  wrong.  But 
such  considerations  lie  outside  the  field  of  science. 

Let  us  see  what  light  can  be  thrown  upon  the  principle 
by  a  study  of  the  significance  of  morality  as  a  factor  in  in- 
dividual life. 

II.  CHARACTER 

The  Unity  of  Character.  —  Character  may  be  roughly 
defined  as  the  whole  body  of  tendencies  in  a  man,  to  act  in 
various  ways  in  various  circumstances ;  each  such  tendency 
being  called  a  '  trait  of  character.'  But  one  must  beware 
of  regarding  these  traits  as  making  up  a  mere  aggregate. 
Any  trait  that  one  might  mention  is  apt  to  be  inextricably 
involved  with  many  others.  Of  the  infant,  indeed,  this  is 
hardly  true.  He  is  a  bundle  of  uncorrelated  instincts.  But 
his  education  consists  mainly  of  the  correlation  of  instincts, 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND  VALUE       299 

the  fusing  of  them  into  what  we  call  character.  It  is  like  the 
forming  of  a  handwriting.  The  unformed  hand  sprawls 
its  line  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  now  at  one  angle,  now  at  another, 
as  the  uncontrolled  impulse  of  the  hand  determines.  On 
the  same  page  different  portions  may  seem  to  be  utterly  dis- 
similar to  each  other.  But  the  formed  hand  has  its  distinc- 
tive '  character/  recognizable  at  a  glance.  All  the  twists 
and  curlycues  are  somehow  brought  into  relation  with  each 
other,  so  that  they  form  one  whole.  So  the  infant  is  at  one 
moment  a  fretful  hunger,  at  another  a  cooing  contentment, 
and  at  yet  another  a  wailing  pin  prick ;  and  there  is  no  con- 
nection between  these  various  phases.  But  the  man  of 
formed  character,  though  he  may  be  hungry,  is  seldom 
merely  hungry ;  and  into  his  deepest  contentment  phi  pricks 
find  their  way.  He  scarcely  ever  acts  from  mere  instinct. 
He  eats  with  knife  and  fork,  handled  as  society  directs ;  or, 
if  he  be  a  savage,  holds  (say)  his  corn  in  his  left  hand  and  his 
meat  hi  his  right.  He  drinks  his  soup  without  making  a 
noise  —  unless,  being  a  Japanese,  he  makes  a  very  loud  noise 
indeed.  When  he  fights  to  the  death  with  his  worst  enemy, 
he  avoids  using  a  foul  stroke.  And  his  whole  mode  of  con- 
duct, from  eating  and  drinking  to  fighting  and  dying,  is  some- 
how bound  together  to  make  up  his  unitary  personality.  It 
is  only  under  the  disintegrating  influence  of  disease  or  drugs, 
or  of  some  overwhelming  passion,  that  the  work  of  education 
may  be  swept  away,  and  he  be  reduced  again  to  the  condition 
of  the  infant  —  a  single  incarnate  want. 

How  Character  Develops.  —  The  development  of  charac- 
ter is  thus  not  a  mere  intensification  or  weakening  of  inherited 
traits,  whereby,  for  example,  jealousy,  cupidity,  and  iras- 
cibility may  be  strengthened  at  the  expense  of  joviality  and 
talkativeness.  Such  strengthening  and  weakening  do,  of 
course,  occur,  but  they  are  not  the  distinctive  feature  of  the 
process.  It  is  essentially  a  complication,  a  weaving  together 
of  traits  into  composite  wholes.  It  is  brought  about  by  the 


300    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

conflict  of  impulses,  instinctive  or  previously  acquired; 
that  is  to  say,  if  each  instinct  could  operate  in  complete  inde- 
pendence of  every  other,  the  development  of  character  would 
never  take  place.  To  adopt  a  well-known  analogy  (of  Gabriel 
Tarde),  it  is  the  cross-fertilization  of  impulses  that  is  respon- 
sible for  the  result. 

Habitual  Preferences.  —  Suppose  a  situation  arises,  in 
which  the  agent  is  impelled  toward  two  ends  between  which 
a  choice  must  be  made.  One  or  the  other  of  the  impulses 
shows  itself  the  stronger  by  issuing  in  action.  If  the  choice 
proves  unsatisfactory  —  which  may  depend  upon  many  fac- 
tors, such  as  the  attitude  of  the  bystanders  and  the  persist- 
ence of  the  ungratified  impulse,  as  well  as  upon  the  direct 
outcome  of  the  action  itself  —  then,  in  a  similar  situation, 
the  impulse  that  triumphed  before  is  less  likely  to  triumph 
again.  The  unpleasantness  of  the  after-effects  adds  its 
force  to  the  contrary  tendency ;  and  by  a  cumulation  of  such 
results  the  direction  of  choice  may  be  reversed.  But  let  the 
consequences  of  choice  be  satisfactory,  and  the  chance  of 
its  repetition  is  increased.  Thus  the  repeated  conflict  of 
impulses  leads  to  the  regular  subordination  of  one  to  the  other. 
In  other  words,  a  habitual  preference  (or  volitional  disposition) 
is  built  up.  It  is  important  to  note  that  such  a  preference  has 
a  force  of  its  own  that  is  measurably  independent  of  the  rel- 
ative strength  of  the  two  impulses  as  they  come  into  conflict. 
If  on  some  occasion  the  subordinated  impulse  is  unusually 
strong,  and  the  dominant  impulse  weak,  the  latter  will 
promptly  increase  in  strength,  as  if  from  some  inner  reser- 
voir, and  will  probably  carry  the  day.  The  habitual  prefer- 
ence has  thus  a  stability  which  the  uncoordinated  elementary 
impulses  do  not  possess ;  and  the  conduct  which  it  controls 
has  a  higher  degree  of  regularity.  It  is  of  habitual  prefer- 
ences that  what  we  call '  character '  is  mainly,  if  not  entirely, 
composed. 

The  establishment  of  habitual  preferences  must  be  care- 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND   VALUE       301 

fully  distinguished  from  the  further  stage  in  the  process  of 
habituation,  in  which  the  consciousness  of  preference  is  lost ; 
and  action  becomes  as  simple  and  spontaneous  as  if  it  were 
prompted  by  a  single  original  instinct.  The  result  is  then 
a  habit  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  term ;  though  in  general 
literature  '  habit '  is  often  used  to  include  habitual  prefer- 
ences. However,  it  is  not  only  in  active  choice  that  habitual 
preferences  show  themselves.  When  situations  that  would 
be  preferred  (to  their  common  alternatives)  are  met  with, 
the  habitual  preference  manifests  itself  in  the  acceptance 
of  the  situation,  that  is  to  say,  in  pleased  relaxation.  And 
again,  in  situations  which  would  generally  be  avoided,  no 
suggestion  of  escape  may  present  itself ;  and  then  the  habit- 
ual preference  shows  itself  in  an  unpleasant  tension.  Perhaps 
for  this  reason  '  volitional  disposition '  (the  literal  transla- 
tion of  the  German  Begehrungsdisposition)  is  a  better  term. 
But  it  is  even  more  cumbersome;  and  so,  with  this  word 
of  explanation,  we  shall  continue  to  use  the  other. 

Complexity  of  Habitual  Preferences.  —  The  earliest  habit- 
ual preferences  are  very  simple.  The  situation  that  calls  for 
choice  contains  but  one  or  two  relevant  features  that  tend  to 
awaken  any  feeling.  But  as  the  development  proceeds,  this 
is  no  longer  true.  We  prefer,  let  us  say,  blue  to  red,  but  not 
as  the  color  of  a  house.  Most  of  our  neckties  are  blue  or 
gray ;  yet  we  like  a  brighter  flash  of  color  for  a  change  — 
though  many  men  would  rather  see  it  on  another  than  on 
themselves.  We  like  a  red  dressing  jacket ;  it  looks  so  warm 
and  cozy.  A  young  woman  can  wear  red  on  many  occasions 
where  in  an  older  woman  it  would  give  offense.  To  a  person 
of  cultivated  taste  the  question  whether  red  or  blue  is  in 
general  preferable  may  well  appear  ridiculous,  the  prefer- 
ence depends  upon  so  many  possibilities.  The  choice  is  no 
longer  between  A  and  B  simply,  but  between  A  and  B,  if  C, 
when  D,  provided  E,  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  alphabet ; 
or,  even  so,  not  between  A  and  B,  but  between  such  and  such 


302    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

relative  amounts  of  the  one  and  the  other.  The  factors  may 
easily  be  so  numerous  as  to  defy  enumeration ;  nay,  even 
the  most  careful  analysis  may  fail  to  reveal  more  than  a 
very  few  of  them.  The  situation  is  somehow  taken  in  as  a 
whole.  It  belongs  to  a  type  with  which  he  has  gradually 
become  familiar;  and  it  is  his  acquired  preferences  with 
respect  to  the  type  that  determine  his  choice  in  the  matter. 

Different  Sides  of  Character.  —  As  habitual  preferences 
of  greater  and  greater  complexity  are  formed,  they  group 
themselves  into  fairly  distinct  masses.  For,  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  life,  we  do  not  have  to  choose  between  a  smile  and 
a  sunset,  a  bow  and  a  second  cup  of  coffee.  But  between  the 
smile  and  the  bow  (or  both,  or  neither)  we  do  have  to  choose 
if  we  are  to  display  good  manners.  The  various  occupations 
that  make  up  the  day  and  the  year,  —  the  various  relations 
into  which  we  are  brought  with  our  fellow  men, — business, 
sport,  domestic  life,  social  entertainment,  art,  science,  politics, 
religion, — each  have  their  hosts  of  delicately  shifting  situa- 
tions in  which  different  sides  of  character  display  themselves. 
And  very  commonly  the  different  sides  function  in  virtual 
independence  of  each  other.  A  man's  good  taste  has  nothing 
to  do  with  his  buying  or  selling  railroad  stocks.  His  reli- 
gion has  nothing  to  do  with  his  accepting  an  invitation  to 
dinner.  In  some  men  the  cleavage  is  so  complete  that  they 
seem  almost  to  be  multiple  personalities  —  like  Jekyll  and 
Hyde.  Between  (say)  the  corrupt  politician  and  the  faith- 
ful and  tender  husband,  between  the  social  leader  and  the 
religious  devotee,  there  may  seem  to  be  only  the  accidental 
connection  of  their  being  lodged  in  the  same  body. 

Moral  Habits  and  their  Function.  —  And  yet,  as  we  know, 
it  is  only  in  peculiar  cases  of  mental  disease  that  this  cleavage 
of  the  personality  is  really  thoroughgoing.  In  the  sane  man 
there  are  a  body  of  habitual  preferences  that  run  through 
all  the  many  different  departments  of  conduct  and  serve 
to  unite  them  into  a  whole.  These  habitual  preferences 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND  VALUE       303 

are  called  moral  habits,  and  taken  together  they  make  up  the 
moral  character.  It  is  their  function  to  reenforce,  hold  in 
check,  harmonize,  control  all  the  other  habitual  preferences. 
A  financier,  let  us  say,  is  endeavoring  to  rehabilitate  a  weak 
concern.  His  conduct  in  so  doing  is  for  the  most  part  simply 
controlled  by  his  character  as  business  man.  But  let  him 
grow  wearied  or  discouraged,  and  his  industry  and  perse- 
verance keep  him  to  the  task,  and  self-respect  makes  him  still 
strive  to  do  his  best  —  moral  habits  which  would  be  of 
equal  service  to  him  if  he  should  undertake  to  learn  to  play 
the  violin.  On  the  other  hand,  his  plan  involves  the  selling 
of  an  issue  of  bonds,  the  value  of  which  is  largely  speculative ; 
and  when  an  elderly  woman,  attracted  by  the  high  rate  of 
interest  that  is  offered,  proposes  to  invest  her  savings  in  them, 
he  cannot  advise  her  to  do  so.  His  moral  character  will  not 
let  him,  just  as  it  would  not  let  him  filch  her  purse  from  her 
pocket.  In  order  to  succeed  in  his  undertaking  he  needs 
the  support  of  some  man  of  great  wealth.  The  wife  of  one 
such  man,  whose  antecedents  are  humble,  has  been  vainly 
trying  to  make  her  way  into  society.  By  asking  his  own  wife 
to  call  upon  her,  he  can  easily  conciliate  the  husband's  favor. 
Shall  he  do  so  ?  His  gentlemanly  '  instincts  '  are  outraged 
at  the  thought.  But  the  condition  of  his  affairs  is  now  des- 
perate. Failure,  besides  the  great  loss  of  time  and  money  in- 
volved, would  seriously  injure  his  prestige.  Ought  he  to  let 
slip  such  an  opportunity  of  relief?  It  belongs  to  his  moral 
character  to  decide. 

Non-moral  Unity  of  Character.  —  Sometimes  a  kind  of 
unity  is  given  to  character  by  the  dominance  of  some  body 
of  habitual  preferences  other  than  the  moral  habits.  A  man 
may  be  an  artist  in  all  things  —  in  love,  in  religion,  in  politics, 
and  so  on.  Not  that  his  aesthetic  tastes  are  always  active, 
but  that  when  an  important  clash  occurs,  these  decide  the 
issue.  And  a  man  may  be  a  politician  in  all  things,  or  a  man 
of  business,  or  the  father  of  a  family.  But  when  this  happens, 


304    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

the  development  of  the  other  sides  of  the  character  is  seri- 
ously dwarfed.  The  man  who  is  first  and  last  an  artist  can- 
not be  a  very  good  husband.  The  mere  business  man  is  a 
poor  patriot.  The  unity  that  results  is  a  one-sided  unity. 
Now,  to  be  sure,  something  analogous  may  happen  as  a  re- 
sult of  the  dominance  of  the  moral  habits.  It  may,  for 
example,  very  well  be  that  a  man's  moral  nature  interferes 
with  his  development  as  an  artist.  Lowell  thought  that  this 
had  been  the  case  with  himself.  But  this  result  is  relatively 
infrequent  and  unimportant.  As  a  rule  a  man's  morality 
does  not  injure  his  taste  —  quite  the  reverse.  But  the  dwarf- 
ing produced  by  the  dominance  of  the  other  sides  of  character 
is  inevitable  and  far-reaching. 

Unity  of  Character  Imperfect.  —  After  all,  it  must  be  re- 
membered, the  unity  of  character  which  the  moral  habits 
produce  is  never  perfect.  No  man  is  ever  completely  at  one 
with  himself.  Again  and  again  situations  arise  in  which  the 
conflict  of  the  different  elements  of  character  is  irreconcil- 
able, and,  whatever  choice  is  made,  a  persistent  regret  re- 
mains. The  disconnected  instincts  from  which  education 
sets  out  are  not  wholly  fused  at  the  end.  The  moral  habits 
themselves  sometimes  clash  with  one  another;  and  though 
there  is  in  each  man  a  certain  amount  of  subordination  among 
them,  the  order  is  by  no  means  clear  and  fixed.  Complete 
unity  of  character  is  simply  an  ideal  limit  toward  which  the 
more  strongly  knit  characters  tend.  We  are  all  more  or  less 
creatures  of  impulse.  Perhaps  we  shall  find  reason  to  think 
that  this  is  not  an  unmixed  disadvantage. 

III.  THE  SENTIMENTS 

Character  as  Seen  from  Within.  —  We  have  been  looking 
at  the  structure  of  human  character  from  the  outside ;  that 
is  to  say,  we  have  thought  of  character  simply  as  that  which 
controls  conduct.  What  is  it  from  the  inside?  What  is  it 
in  the  direct  experience  of  the  man  himself? 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND  VALUE        305 

The  inner,  conscious  side  of  an  habitual  preference  we  shall 
call  a  sentiment.  The  usage  of  this  term  varies  greatly,  among 
both  popular  and  scientific  writers.  As  here  defined,  it  has 
a  somewhat  wider  sense  than  is  common.  It  would  generally 
be  restricted  to  cases  where  the  habitual  preference  was 
highly  developed  and  applied  to  very  complex  types  of  situa- 
tions. One  little  girl's  predilection  for  red  and  another's 
for  blue  would  not  ordinarily  be  called  sentiments.  However, 
the  point  is  of  little  importance  to  us,  as  the  sentiments  with 
which  we  shall  be  especially  concerned  belong  to  a  much 
higher  grade  of  development. 

An  Organization  of  Feelings.  —  Now,  with  the  possible 
exception  of  the  very  simplest  cases,  a  sentiment  is  not  one 
certain  conscious  process,  but  a  system  of  interconnected 
processes,  that  can  never  occur  together  in  one  moment  of 
time.  The  sentiment  of  the  tragic,  for  instance,  is  not  just 
one  peculiar  feeling;  nor  is  the  sentiment  of  justice  one 
peculiar  feeling.  They  are  organizations  of  feelings  that  can 
at  most  follow  each  other  closely  in  consciousness.  It  is 
not  even  true  that  there  is  some  one  feeling  that  must  always 
arise  if  the  sentiment  is  to  be  experienced,  while  the  others 
accompany  it  or  not  as  the  case  may  be.  The  sentiment 
may  be  represented  by  any  one  of  a  host  of  feelings,  between 
which  little,  if  any,  universal  resemblance  may  exist. 

Analogy  of  the  Concept.  —  The  sentiment  thus  plays  a 
part  in  the  affective  life  of  man  similar  to  that  which  the 
concept  plays  in  his  cognitive  life.  Suppose  I  take  a  child's 
building  block  in  my  hand,  and  look  it  over  on  all  sides.  As 
I  place  it  at  each  new  angle,  my  visual  image  of  it  takes  a 
different  shape.  At  no  time  do  I  see  the  six  square  faces  at 
once ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  only  by  limiting  my  view  to  a  single 
face  that  I  can  make  its  four  sides  equal  '  to  the  eye/  But 
I  never  for  a  moment  doubt  that  I  am  looking  at  a  cube. 
Each  different  view  of  the  object  conforms  perfectly  with 
this  conviction.  It  belongs  to  such  a  solid  to  present  just  such 


306    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

varying  appearances  under  just  such  conditions,  —  and  I 
should  be  mightily  surprised  if  it  behaved  otherwise.  If, 
for  example,  I  should  see  at  one  time  six  faces,  all  of  whose 
sides  were  equal '  to  the  eye/  I  should  be  instantly  convinced 
that  the  block  was  not  a  cube.  Now  by  my  concept  of  the 
block's  shape  I  mean  the  whole  organization  of  ideas  (of 
which  only  a  vanishingly  small  part  is  ever  present  to  con- 
sciousness at  one  time)  which  underlies  my  present  experience 
—  the  organization  by  virtue  of  which  so  many  different 
visual  images  mean  the  same  thing.  For,  let  it  be  observed, 
however  unequal  the  sides  may  be  '  to  the  eye,'  I  see  them 
equal.  However  oblique  the  angles  may  become  in  perspec- 
tive, I  see  them  as  right  angles. 

The  great  superiority  of  the  concept  to  the  unorganized 
sensuous  image  rests  upon  its  far  greater  stability.  The  image 
may  vary  within  exceedingly  wide  limits,  while  the  concept 
remains  unmodified,  and,  whether  for  purposes  of  pure  theory 
or  for  practical  guidance,  its  efficiency  is  undisturbed.  The 
cube,  seen  from  whatever  angle,  is  still  a  cube ;  and  it  will 
not  fit  into  a  round  hole.  So  it  is  with  the  sentiment.  Our 
feelings  with  respect  to  all  manner  of  things  vary  almost 
without  limit  from  day  to  day  or  even  from  hour  to  hour. 
But  our  sentiments  remain  comparatively  constant.  The 
occupation  which  now  fills  me  with  enthusiasm,  a  few  hours 
later  bores  me.  If  I  were  a  little  child,  I  should  drop  it  im- 
mediately. If  I  do  not,  it  is  because  my  conduct  is  controlled 
by  something  more  than  a  feeling  of  the  moment  —  by  a  per- 
sistent sentiment  organized  by  many  years  of  habituation. 

Standards.  —  Something  was  said  above  (p.  302)  with  re- 
gard to  the  types  of  situations  in  which  habitual  preferences 
display  themselves,  and  in  which,  accordingly,  sentiments 
are  experienced.  What  is  preferred  in  typical  situations  is 
called  a  norm,  or  standard.  Whatever  conforms  to  the  stand- 
ard is  (in  the  most  general  sense  of  the  term)  right;  what- 
ever fails  to  conform  is  wrong.  Thus  a  printed  wedding- 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND   VALUE       307 

card,  a  Democratic  victory,  a  rhyme  of  '  human '  and 
'  common/  are  right  or  wrong  according  to  the  standard 
that  prevails.  It  is  evident  that  the  concept  of  a  standard 
of  right  and  wrong  develops  with  the  growth  of  the  sentiment 
itself.  It  is,  in  fact,  its  intellectual  content. 

Sentimental  Feelings.  —  When  feelings  become  organized 
into  sentiments,  — '  sentimental  feelings  '  we  may  call  them 
then,  —  they  themselves  become  modified  in  the  process. 
One  very  common  modification  is  the  diminution  of  intensity. 
This  fact  has  led  some  psychologists  and  ethicists  (notably 
Hume)  to  regard  sentiments  as  simply  one  class  of  feelings, 
distinguished  from  the  other  class  (the  passions)  by  their 
generally  lower  intensity.  A  more  important  modification, 
however,  is  the  fusion  of  feelings  into  complex  wholes.  In- 
deed the  loss  of  intensity  is  generally  a  mere  incident  to  the 
fusion.  Violent  feelings  do  not  easily  fuse ;  they  rather  ex- 
clude one  another  from  consciousness.  For  example,  the 
feelings  belonging  to  the  sublime  generally  contain  an  ele- 
ment of  fear.  But  if  the  fear  becomes  intense,  it  occupies 
the  whole  of  consciousness,  and  the  effect  of  sublimity  is  de- 
stroyed. The  storm  at  sea  is  sublime  —  to  the  man  on  shore. 
It  may  also  be  sublime  to  the  ship's  passenger,  but  not  if 
he  becomes  sensible  of  imminent  danger.  In  the  same  way 
an  element  of  cruelty  —  the  peculiar  delight  that  comes 
from  inflicting  pain  upon  a  helpless  victim  —  is  a  common 
element  in  the  feelings  of  the  comic  ;  but  if  this  element  be- 
comes too  strong,  the  comedy  is  lost  in  mere  brutality  How- 
ever, for  many  men  the  limit  is  a  high  one ;  the  cruelty  must 
be  great  indeed  before  the  comic  effect  is  impaired. 

Feelings  of  Obligation.  —  When  feelings  of  any  kind  are 
impelling  men  to  action,  and  are  resisted  in  their  expression 
by  contrary  feelings,  they  are  very  apt  to  be  greatly  inten- 
sified, at  least  temporarily.  When  a  sentimental  feeling  is 
thus  resisted,  it  becomes  what  is  called  a  feeling  of  obliga- 
tion. Obligations  are  thus  of  as  many  different  kinds  as 


308    INTRODUCTION   TO   THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

sentiments,  or  as  the  habitual  preferences  of  which  senti- 
ments are  the  internal  aspect.  Thus  they  may  be  profes- 
sional, social,  artistic,  religious,  moral,  and  so  on.  And 
these  may  conflict.  The  painter,  for  example,  who  is  finish- 
ing a  miniature,  and  whose  eyes  are  heavy  from  the  strain  of 
months  of  close  application,  feels  keenly  the  obligation  not 
to  let  it  go  till  he  has  made  it  as  beautiful  as  his  skill  will  per- 
mit. It  may  be  that  as  a  matter  of  business  any  further  work 
upon  the  miniature  will  not  pay.  The  patron  is  more  than 
satisfied,  and  the  public  is  little  educated  in  such  matters; 
so  that  the  artist's  reputation  would  not  suffer  if  he  dropped 
the  thing  at  once.  Now  dollars  and  cents  are  not  everything, 
but  they  are  certainly  something;  and  the  painter  feels  a 
certain  obligation  not  to  neglect  them.  Besides,  while  he 
keeps  making  scarcely  discernible  strokes  with  tiny  brushes, 
his  family  in  the  hot  city  are  suffering  for  the  outing  which  he 
cannot  afford  to  give  them.  The  tints  on  his  little  girl's 
cheek,  as  well  as  the  tints  in  the  miniature,  have  their  impor- 
tance. 

Supremacy  of  Moral  Obligations.  —  We  have  spoken  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  moral  habits  bring  together  the 
various  departments  of  character  into  a  unitary  whole,  har- 
monizing and  controlling  the  conflicting  tendencies.  In 
terms  of  the  feelings  of  obligation,  this  means  that  in  the  well- 
developed  individual  the  moral  obligations  are  supreme. 
Where  these  clash  with  obligations  of  other  kinds,  they  are 
apt  to  supersede  them;  where  other  obligations  clash,  a 
moral  obligation  arises  and  subordinates  them  to  itself ;  or, 
if  not,  the  unity  of  character  in  so  far  breaks  down.  The 
moral  obligation  is  thus,  in  a  certain  sense,  the  obligation  of 
the  man  as  a  whole ;  the  others  belong  only  to  fractions  of 
the  man.  Take  the  case  of  the  painter  above.  He  feels  the 
obligations  of  the  artist,  the  business  man,  the  father  of  a 
family.  It  may  be  that  these  will  continue  to  pull  and  haul 
him  without  decisive  issue,  or  until  some  one  overwhelms 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND  VALUE       309 

the  others  and  remains  in  sole  control.  But  if  his  is  a  well- 
organized  personality,  something  different  is  likely  to  happen. 
His  moral  sentiments  assert  themselves,  and  he  feels  an  obli- 
gation hi  which  the  others  are  at  once  included  and  subordi- 
nated. Some  one  (or  some  combination)  of  the  inferior 
obligations  is  reenforced  at  the  expense  of  the  rest.  Which 
one  is  thus  distinguished,  is  a  matter  which  the  strength  of 
the  original  feelings  does  not  ordinarily  affect.  It  is  the 
moral  sentiments  of  the  man  that  decide  the  issue.  It  may 
be,  for  instance,  that  the  monetary  consideration  strikes 
the  painter  as  an  ignoble  temptation ;  and  that,  as  far  as  his 
family  are  concerned,  if  he  leaves  them  the  heritage  of  his 
fair  name,  the  loss  of  a  summer's  vacation  is  of  little  concern. 
He  ought  to  be  true  to  his  art.  Or  he  may  decide  otherwise 
—  that  depends  upon  the  man. 

Because  of  this  normal  supremacy  of  the  moral  obligations, 
they  stand  hi  common  usage  as  the  obligations,  without  need 
of  qualifying  adjective ;  and  the  equivalent  verb  '  ought/ 
as  well  as  the  adjectives  '  right ;  and  '  wrong/  also  belong 
especially  to  the  moral  domain. 

Separation  of  Obligations :  (1)  In  Business.  —  Lack  of 
unity  hi  character,  as  well  as  the  unnatural  dominance  of 
character  by  one  of  its  inferior  aspects,  may  also  be  viewed  to 
advantage  in  its  effect  upon  the  feelings  of  obligation.  The 
division  between  business,  on  the  one  hand,  and  home,  polite 
society,  and  religion,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  very  common 
phenomenon.  The  phrase,  '  Business  is  business/  implying 
that  in  this  sphere  no  other  than  commercial  obligations  have 
any  weight,  is  proverbial.  Thus,  for  example,  a  retail  mer- 
chant, who  hi  the  other  relations  of  life  is  strictly  truthful, 
and  would  regard  a  lie  as  ungentlemanly  as  well  as  immoral, 
does  not  hesitate  to  print  lying  advertisements  of  his  goods ; 
or,  if  he  does  hesitate,  it  is  because  he  is  inclined  to  think  that 
hi  the  long  run  truthful  advertising  brings  in  better  returns. 
Moral  considerations  are  simply  excluded.  He  would  be 


310    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

ashamed,  let  us  say,  not  to  give  up  his  seat  to  a  woman 
in  a  crowded  street  car ;  but  he  keeps  his  clerks,  men  and 
women  alike,  standing  for  ten  hours  a  day  —  or,  if  he  gives 
them  a  chance  to  sit,  it  is  pressure  upon  his  pocketbook  that 
makes  him  do  it.  At  the  same  time,  he  would  not  let  his  wife 
assist  him  in  the  business  in  any  capacity.  Not  that  he 
doubts  her  ability.  But  she  belongs  to  home  and  children. 
And,  if  business  is  business,  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  home 
is  home. 

(2)  In  Art.  —  But  perhaps  the  most  striking  illustrations 
of  the  divided  personality  and  its  separate  obligations  are 
to  be  found  in  the  life  of  the  artist,  and  especially  in  that  of 
the  poet  or  novelist.  '  Art  for  art's  sake '  —  in  this  field 
no  other  sentiments  than  those  of  the  beautiful  must  have 
any  but  a  subordinate  place.  If  the  demands,  say,  of  realistic 
truth  and  those  of  morality  seem  to  clash,  morality  must 
be  firmly  ruled  out  of  the  inclosure.  Chaucer  in  his  Canter- 
bury Tales  tells  some  capital  funny  stories,  certain  of  which 
have  the  defect  of  being  (in  many  men's  opinion,  at  any  rate) 
shockingly  immoral.  He  himself  frankly  acknowledges  this, 
but,  in  his  humorous  way,  insists  that  he  could  not  have 
written  otherwise.  It  is,  for  example,  the  Miller  and  the 
Reeve  (in  whose  mouths  two  of  the  stories  are  placed)  that 
are  to  blame.  These  are  coarse  men ;  and  he  but  repeats 
their  stories  as  they  told  them.  In  plain  prose,  he  writes 
only  as  a  due  and  proper  realism  demands.  If  the  interests 
of  morality  suffer  thereby,  so  much  the  worse  for  morality. 
The  interests  of  art  are  paramount  here. 

Now  appended  to  all  the  best  manuscripts  of  Chaucer's 
poems  is  an  earnest  prayer  to  the  public,  not  to  read  these 
tales.  Literary  critics  of  a  certain  sort  have  been  free  to  con- 
demn this  prayer  as  a  monkish  forgery;  but  so  far  as  we 
are  aware  there  is  no  sound  reason  for  doubting  its  genuine- 
ness. Chaucer  was  a  deeply  moral  man;  and  however 
thoroughly,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  creation,  he  could  persuade 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND   VALUE       311 

himself  that  art  is  its  own  sufficient  excuse  for  being,  the  after- 
thought could  not  fail  to  arise,  that  human  life  is  far  more 
than  art,  and  that  the  obligations  of  the  poet  are  inferior  to 
the  obligations  of  the  man. 

Compare  the  case  of  Scott's  Ivanhoe.  When  this  romance 
first  appeared,  a  protest  arose  from  thousands  of  readers, 
which  has  not  yet  wholly  died  out,  that  the  hero  ought  not 
to  have  married  the  lady  Rowena  but  the  interesting  Jewess 
Rebecca.  In  the  preface  which  he  published  some  years 
later,  Scott  justified  his  course  in  the  matter.  One  would 
have  expected  him  to  urge  aesthetic  considerations,  and  no 
doubt  he  might  have  done  so.  But  what  he  emphasizes  is 
this:  that  a  marriage  between  the  young  knight  and  the 
Jewess  would  have  been  untrue  to  life,  and  hence  would  have 
tended  to  give  false  ideas  of  the  world  to  many  young  men  and 
women  —  perhaps  to  their  moral  detriment.  Even  though, 
therefore,  his  story  might  have  been  unproved,  he  was  unwill- 
ing to  improve  it  —  at  such  a  risk. 

For  examples  of  the  dominance  of  conduct  by  the  aesthetic 
sentiments  (as  distinguished  from  their  supremacy  within 
a  restricted  field),  we  are  accustomed  to  look  to  the  Italian 
renaissance.  Browning's  The  Bishop  Orders  his  Tomb  is  a 
remarkable  study  of  this  type.  Tennyson's  Romney's  Re- 
morse illustrates  a  different  but  closely  allied  phenomenon  — 
the  sacrifice  of  the  closest  of  personal  ties  in  order  to  realize 
more  favorable  conditions  for  aesthetic  creation. 

IV.  VALUATION 

Orders  of  Preference.  —  One  noteworthy  consequence  of 
the  formation  of  stable  sentiments  is  a  certain  classification, 
or  rather  ordering,  of  the  contents  of  our  world,  according  to 
the  way  in  which  they  are  preferred  or  rejected  in  comparison 
with  each  other.  Things  and  their  relations  are  good,  bad, 
and  indifferent;  or,  where  a  more  elaborate  division  takes 
place,  they  may  be  excellent,  very  good,  good,  fair,  tolerable, 


312    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

poor,  bad,  very  bad,  abominable,  etc. ;  and  sometimes  even  a 
quantitative  scale  is  developed,  according  to  which  one  thing 
is,  say,  twice  as  good  or  three  times  as  bad  as  another.  The 
so-called  '  null-point '  of  indifference  is  fixed  by  our  not  caring 
whether  a  thing  (or  a  relation)  exists  or  not. 

Their  Complexity.  —  There  is  not  merely  one  such  order. 
The  orders  are  as  various  as  the  sentiments  themselves. 
Where  a  consistent  preference  is  impossible,  the  things  are 
said  not  to  be  comparable.  We  do  not  ordinarily  try  to  rank 
Shakespeare,  Beethoven,  and  Titian,  artists  though  they  be ; 
nay,  we  should  hardly  try  to  compare  the  merits  of  Othello 
and  Cymbeline,  dramas  though  they  be,  and  though  they 
contain  many  elements  that  may  well  enough  be  compared. 
Nor  would  we  be  apt  to  weigh  in  the  balance  one  man's  cour- 
tesy against  another  man's  wit.  But  the  point  is  too  obvious 
to  be  insisted  upon.  At  the  same  time,  the  multitudinous 
orders  of  preference  are  not  wholly  distinct  and  independent. 
There  are  more  comprehensive  sentiments  which  connect 
them.  We  have  wider  as  well  as  narrower  standards  of  com- 
parison. There  are  occasions  when  we  are  called  upon  to 
compare  courtesy  and  wit,  or  even  one  man's  religious  or- 
thodoxy with  another's  bank  account ;  and  sentiments  are 
formed  by  which  our  choice  on  such  occasions  is  controlled. 
So  that,  after  all,  the  many  orders  of  preference  do  form  one 
order,  though  a  very  ill-defined  one ;  whatever  ultimate  unity 
there  is  being  largely  due,  generally  speaking,  to  the  most 
comprehensive  class  of  sentiments,  the  moral  sentiments. 

Valuation  and  Evaluation.  —  The  process  by  which  the  ob- 
jects of  our  experience  are  thus  grouped  and  ordered  is  called 
valuation,  and  the  place  which  any  object  takes  in  the  scale 
is  called  its  value.  Values  are  positive  or  negative,  according 
as  they  stand  above  or  below  the  null-point  of  indifference, 
to  which  the  zero  value  corresponds.  Valuation  is  thus  some- 
thing more  than  merely  liking  or  disliking  things,  or  even 
than  habitual  preference.  It  is  the  formation  of  a  system  of 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND   VALUE        313 

concepts,  the  concepts  of  the  various  grades  of  valued  objects. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  a  man  is  called  upon  to  assign  a 
given  object  to  its  proper  place  in  the  scale,  —  in  other  words, 
to  form  a  judgment  of  value,  or  an  evaluation,  —  the  process 
is  often  a  purely  intellectual  one.  He  observes  that  the 
thing  is  of  a  familiar  type,  which  he  remembers  as  being  char- 
acteristic of  objects  of  a  certain  grade ;  and  he  classifies  it 
accordingly.  Not  that  this  is  always  the  case.  Sometimes 
the  judgment  is  inspired  by  an  actual  present  sentiment. 
Perhaps  most  often  the  judgment  is  partly  dictated  by  senti- 
ment and  partly  by  external  marks.  In  any  case,  however, 
it  must  not  be  forgotten  that,  however  large  a  part  purely 
intellectual  processes  may  play  in  the  particular  evaluation, 
it  is  only  through  sentimental  feelings  that  the  scale  of  values, 
upon  which  the  judgment  is  based,  has  itself  been  built  up. 

Judgments  of  these  various  kinds  are  familiar  to  us  in  all 
the  different  spheres  of  valuation.  The  marking  of  an  ex- 
amination paper  affords  some  apt  illustrations.  This  may 
be  done  without  any  sentiment  whatsoever  —  so  many 
per  cent  off  for  each  mistake.  Or  the  examiner  may  have 
in  his  mind  a  certain  body  of  facts  which  he  expects  each  an- 
swer to  contain ;  and  he  may  take  off  so  many  points  for  each 
omission.  Every  once  in  a  while,  however,  he  may  have 
a  feeling  that  the  grade  he  has  given  is  unjust,  higher  or 
lower  than  it  should  be;  and  if  this  impression  is  strong 
enough,  he  disregards  his  formal  estimate  and  alters  the  mark. 
Or  the  operation  may  be  guided  by  active  sentiments  through- 
out—  not  so  much  a  matter  of  counting  as  of  weighing. 
Generally  speaking,  the  better  the  criticism,  the  more  fresh 
sentiment  has  gone  into  it.  To  trust  to  general  criteria, 
without  spontaneous  feeling  for  the  individual  case,  is  to 
display  a  low  order  of  judgment. 

Obligation  and  Values.  —  The  relation  of  valuation  to  the 
feelings  of  obligation  is  very  simple.  One  ought  always  to 
choose  the  more  valuable  in  preference  to  the  less  valuable. 


314    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

It  is  an  obligation  of  the  merchant  to  buy  as  cheaply  and  sell 
as  dearly  as  he  can ;  just  as  it  is  an  obligation  of  the  society 
woman  to  cultivate  the  '  best '  people,  of  the  politician  to 
nominate  the  most  popular  candidate,  of  the  scholar  to  de- 
vote himself  to  the  most  significant  problem,  and  so  on.  To 
get  less  than  one  might  of  any  kind  of  good  is  in  so  far  wrong, 
and  can  only  be  made  right  by  becoming  the  condition  of  ol> 
taining  a  greater  value  of  another  kind. 

A  Condition  of  the  Subordination  of  Sentiments.  —  A 
noteworthy  consequence  of  this  relation  is  that  in  any  com- 
plex situation,  where  one  sentiment  is  subordinated  to 
another,  the  possible  values  of  the  kind  appreciated  by  the 
lower  sentiment  must  be  less  than  those  appreciated  by  the 
higher  sentiment.  Poe,  in  his  account  of  the  writing  of  The 
Raven,  tells  us  that  if  any  of  the  earlier  stanzas  of  the  poem 
had  turned  out "  more  vigorous  "  than  that  which  contains  the 
climax,  he  would  "  without  scruple  have  purposely  enfeebled 
them."  Now  if,  in  the  writing  of  a  poem,  one's  feeling  for 
the  beauty  of  stanzaic  rhythm  is  to  be  subordinated  to  the 
sense  of  the  climacteric  effect  of  the  whole,  it  must  be  possible 
to  make  the  poem  better  by  insisting  on  the  climax  than  it 
could  be  made  by  letting  each  stanza  have  its  own  maximum 
rhythmical  value.  This  does  not  "necessarily  mean  that  in 
every  poetic  composition  the  details  ought  to  be  subordinated 
to  the  whole  —  though  Poe,  indeed,  thought  so.  Sometimes 
the  general  structure  may  be  a  mere  excuse  for  bringing 
together  the  details.  What  we  are  urging  is  simply  that 
when  the  poet  is  under  obligation  to  subordinate  the  details, 
he  must  be  able  to  make  the  poem  in  hand  a  better  poem 
thereby. 

The  Range  of  Moral  Values.  —  This  principle  applies  most 
strikingly  to  the  most  comprehensive  sentiments  and  the 
supreme  obligations:  the  moral.  It  means  that  in  any 
situation  the  possible  moral  values  are  greater  than  any 
others  with  which  they  there  conflict  —  or,  if  this  is  not  the 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND  VALUE       315 

case,  the  moral  sentiments  fail  to  perform  their  proper  func- 
tion. And  if  (as  seems  probable)  the  complexity  of  human 
life  is  such  that  there  is  no  non-moral  value  which  may  not 
in  some  situation  conflict  with  a  moral  value,  it  follows  that 
for  the  well-organized  individual  the  moral  values  are  capable 
of  higher  degrees  than  any  others. 

When  different  scales  of  values  are  combined  in  one,  it  is 
generally  to  be  observed  that  the  highest  positive  values 
and  the  lowest  negative  values  belong  together.  Greater 
potentialities  of  beauty,  for  example,  go  with  greater  poten- 
tialities of  ugliness.  If  the  best  tragedies  stand  upon  a  level 
which  comedy  cannot  reach,  the  worst  tragedies  sink  to 
depths  of  dullness  and  brutality  which  the  worst  comedies 
cannot  approach.  And  similarly,  if  good  breeding  is  more 
desirable  than  good  birth,  ill  breeding  is  a  greater  defect  than 
lowly  birth.  This  applies  to  the  relation  of  the  moral  values 
to  all  others.  Just  as,  in  common  estimation,  virtue  is  capa- 
ble of  heights  to  which  no  other  type  of  good  can  be  exalted, 
so  vice  is  capable  of  depths  to  which  no  other  type  of  evil  can 
descend. 

V.  THE  VALUE  OF  A  SUM  OF  THINGS 
Addition  of  Values.  —  When  the  values  of  a  number  of 
things  belong  to  the  same  scale,  and  the  scale  is  a  quantified 
one,  the  value  of  the  collection  as  a  whole  is,  as  a  general 
rule,  simply  the  (algebraic)  sum  of  the  values  of  the  several 
things.  This  is  illustrated  by  economic  values,  and,  again, 
by  the  credit  marks  on  a  student's  examination  paper.  Six 
points  in  each  of  ten  questions  means  sixty  points  on  the 
whole. 

Addition  generally  Impossible.  —  It  is,  however,  only  ex- 
ceptionally that  a  scale  of  values  is  quantified.  It  is  far  more 
apt  to  be  like  a  scale  of  intensities  —  the  scale  of  the  intensi- 
ties of  warmth  and  cold,  for  example.  The  sensations  may 
be  arranged  hi  an  ordered  series,  with  a  null-point  of  in- 


316    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

sensibility  in  the  middle.  But  one  warmth  cannot  be  twice 
as  intense  as  another,  or  equal  to  the  sum  or  difference  of  two 
others ;  and  it  is  only  very  roughly  that  we  can  say  that  a 
warmth  is  as  intense  as  a  given  cold.  So  it  is,  we  repeat,  with 
most  scales  of  value.  One  painting  is  more  beautiful  than 
another ;  but  it  scarcely  makes  sense  to  say  that  it  is  twice  as 
beautiful,  or  that  its  beauty  is  equal  to  the  sum  of  the  beauties 
of  two  others.  We  must,  then,  be  careful  to  avoid  the  error 
of  assuming  that  the  value  of  a  sum  of  things  is  necessarily 
a  sum.  It  generally  is  not,  even  though  the  values  all  belong 
to  the  same  scale. 

It  is  true,  indeed,  that  the  value  of  such  a  sum  is  generally 
greater  than  the  value  of  any  of  the  particular  things ;  but 
there  are  exceptions  even  to  this.  The  value  of  Coleridge's 
poetry  would  be  in  no  wise  diminished  if  three  fourths  of  his 
verses  had  never  been  written,  though  none  of  them  are  en- 
tirely without  merit.  A  very  few  are  so  much  better  than  the 
rest  that  the  latter  shrivel  into  insignificance  beside  them. 

Subordination  of  Sentiments  Involved.  —  But  we  are 
often  called  upon  to  value  combinations  of  values  of  widely 
different  kinds.  The  young  woman  that  hesitates  between 
two  suitors  does  this.  And  the  distinguished  lawyer  who 
hesitates  before  accepting  an  appointment  to  the  bench  must 
do  this  also.  Consider  some  of  the  factors  in  the  latter 
situation.  As  a  lawyer  he  earns  ten  times  the  amount  of  the 
judge's  salary;  and  this  larger  income  provides  many  ad- 
vantages for  himself  and  his  family.  He  is  to  a  considerable 
extent  free  in  the  choice  of  his  interests  and  activities,  while 
the  judge  is  bound  to  his  calendar.  But  the  appointment  is 
a  great  honor,  and  brings  with  it  a  great  increase  of  power  — 
power  which  is  attractive  both  in  itself  and  as  a  means  of 
public  service.  Now,  of  course,  either  the  young  woman  or 
the  lawyer  may  be  carried  away  by  passion,  and  may  choose 
even  without  coming  to  any  conclusion  as  to  the  comparative 
merits  of  the  case.  But  if  a  conclusion  is  reached  and  an 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND   VALUE        317 

evaluation  is  effected,  it  is  obvious  that  some  correlation  and 
subordination  of  sentiments  is  involved,  such  as  we  have  al- 
ready studied. 

Happiness.  —  In  like  manner  a  whole  condition  of  life  may 
be  recognized  as  having  a  value.  This  value,  positive  or 
negative,  is  called  '  happiness  '  or  '  unhappiness.'  (We  have 
in  English  no  word  that  covers  both.  In  Greek  wpo&s  is 
used  in  this  sense.)  These  conceptions  involve  no  new 
theoretical  difficulties ;  but  it  is  obvious  that  so  complex  a 
synthesis  cannot  possess  any  high  degree  of  accuracy.  It  is 
often  difficult  for  a  man  to  decide  whether  he  is  happy  or  not, 
not  to  speak  of  deciding  how  happy  or  how  unhappy.  And 
yet  such  decisions  play  an  important  part  in  the  conduct  of 
life. 

The  Greatest  Happiness.  —  The  ideal  of  the  greatest 
happiness  (bonum  consummatum)  is  the  combination  of  all 
the  good  things  in  life,  so  far  as  they  are  compatible  with  each 
other ;  where  they  are  incompatible,  the  worse  being  sacri- 
ficed for  the  better.  Needless  to  say,  this  ideal  changes 
greatly  with  change  of  character,  and  is  at  all  times  exceed- 
ingly vague.  It  contains  elements  of  widely  different  nature, 
each  of  which  is  open  to  wide  variation ;  for  example,  physi- 
cal health,  a  certain  standard  of  living,  affectionate  relations 
with  wife  and  children,  social  success,  a  good  conscience. 
Sometimes  a  single  element,  such  as  a  woman's  love  or  a 
great  fortune,  outweighs  all  the  rest.  The  man  believes  that 
if  he  had  this  one  thing,  nothing  else  would  matter  much. 
Such  a  valuation  (when  it  persists)  is,  of  course,  indicative  of 
a  very  one-sided  character.  The  normal  man  includes  in  his 
ideal  of  the  greatest  happiness  a  great  number  and  variety 
of  elements.  Among  these  a  good  moral  character  is  bound 
to  have  an  important  place ;  for,  as  we  recall,  it  is  the  habit- 
ual ascendancy  of  the  moral  sentiments  that  is  the  essential 
condition  of  unity  of  character  —  that  is  to  say,  of  the  har- 
monization of  one's  desires  for  different  things. 


318    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

The  Essentials  of  Happiness.  —  Men  also  form  conceptions 
of  what  they  regard  as  essential  to  happiness  —  that  without 
which  they  would  necessarily  be  unhappy.  These  concep- 
tions also  vary  greatly  from  man  to  man.  And  here  again, 
in  the  estimation  of  normal  men,  a  good  moral  character  has 
an  important  place.  The  habitual  ascendancy  which  the 
moral  sentiments  have  in  their  minds  makes  it  impossible  for 
them  to  conceive  of  happiness  with  the  moral  values  left  out. 

VI.  VIRTUE  AND  HAPPINESS 

Two  Considerations.  —  On  the  basis  of  the  above  account 
of  the  place  and  function  of  the  moral  sentiments,  can  any- 
thing definite  be  said  with  regard  to  the  question  from  which 
we  set  out,  the  question  of  the  sufficiency  of  morality  as  a 
condition  of  happiness?  There  are  here  two  distinct  con- 
siderations to  be  borne  in  mind :  (1)  the  relation  in  which 
morality  stands  to  the  other  elements  in  happiness;  and 
(2)  the  estimate  that  is  due  the  moral  values  as  such  —  the 
value  of  a  good  or  a  bad  conscience. 

1.    Indirect  Value  of  Morality 

Immorality  Prevents  Content.  —  In  the  first  place,  as  we 
have  so  often  had  to  repeat,  the  supremacy  of  the  moral  sen- 
timents in  deciding  the  issues  of  life  is  a  general  condition 
of  the  harmonization  and  unification  of  our  desires.  But 
where  desires  are  not  unified  every  important  choice  contains 
the  seeds  of  disappointment.  From  this  point  of  view  it 
appears  obvious  that  while  the  moral  man  may  often  be  un- 
happy, the  immoral  man  can  scarcely  avoid  a  great  deal  of 
unhappiness.  He  is  well-nigh  doomed  to  a  deep  and  abiding 
discontent. 

The  Contraction  of  Life.  —  We  have  admitted,  to  be  sure, 
that  in  an  exceptional  case  some  other  class  of  sentiments 
(the  aesthetic,  for  example)  may  perform  the  work  of  unifi- 
cation. In  such  a  case,  as  we  have  pointed  out,  the  other 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND   VALUE       319 

sides  of  a  man's  nature  are  of  necessity  starved  and  stunted. 
This  means,  of  course,  that  numerous  sources  of  happiness 
are  cut  off.  Hence  it  is  probable,  that,  even  though  upon  the 
one  abnormally  developed  side  an  unusual  sensibility  to  its 
peculiar  values  may  arise,  the  possibility  of  happiness  on  the 
whole  is  seriously  reduced.  At  the  same  time,  however,  the 
possibilities  of  unhappiness  are  similarly  reduced.  The  man 
who  could  not  rejoice  at  a  victory  does  not  sorrow  at  a  de- 
feat. From  this  point  of  view,  then,  we  cannot  say  that  such 
an  exceptionally  immoral  man  is  probably  less  happy  than 
a  moral  man.  We  can  only  say,  somewhat  as  we  would  say 
in  comparing  a  brute  and  a  man,  that  the  former  has  less 
capacity  for  both  happiness  and  unhappiness.  What  fur- 
ther conclusion  is  drawn  from  these  premises  depends,  of 
course,  upon  our  optimistic  or  pessimistic  attitude  toward 
life  in  general.  If,  as  a  general  rule,  life  is  worth  living,  — 
if,  to  point  the  question,  it  is  better  to  live  the  wider  life  of 
a  man  than  the  narrower  life  of  a  brute,  —  then  it  is  better  to 
be  a  good  man  than  a  mere  aesthete. 

Effects  of  Isolation.  —  A  similar  conclusion  may  be  reached 
when  we  recall  to  mind  what  was  said  in  the  last  chapter 
with  regard  to  the  social  significance  of  morality.  Morality, 
we  there  found,  is  an  essential  condition  of  social  intercourse, 
and,  hi  particular,  of  the  communication  of  sentiments,  from 
man  to  man.  Immorality,  therefore,  means  so  much  isola- 
tion, means  the  being  cut  off  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  from 
the  common  interests  and  occupations  of  one's  fellows.  Now 
in  most  bad  men  this  undoubtedly  gives  rise  to  considerable 
unhappiness.  They  cannot  help  yearning  for  the  society 
from  which  they  find  themselves  excluded.  In  the  extreme 
case  of  the  thoroughly  abnormal  individual,  who  cares  little 
for  any  other  society  than  that  of  those  who  share  his  own 
narrow  interests  and  who  are  bound  to  him  through  these 
interests  alone  —  in  this  extreme  case,  life  simply  proceeds 
upon  a  smaller  scale.  A  vast  multitude  of  joys  and  sorrows 


320    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

are  alike  unfelt.     The  possibilities  of  happiness  and  of  unhap- 
piness  are  reduced  together. 

The  Winning  of  Sympathy.  —  There  is  another  considera- 
tion, however,  that  points  more  decisively  to  the  advantage  of 
the  better  balanced  moral  man.  The  ability  to  sympathize 
is  a  potent  means  of  gaining  sympathy.  The  man  whose 
one-sided  development  deprives  him  of  interest  in  his  fellows 
loses  their  good  will  and  hearty  cooperation.  Whatever 
ills  come  to  him,  he  has  the  greater  chance  of  bearing  their 
full  brunt,  even  if  he  escapes  active  enmity.  And  however 
powerful  he  may  be,  he  cannot  compel  or  purchase  the  loving 
consideration  upon  which  many  of  life's  most  substantial 
charms  depend. 

2.  Direct  Value  of  Morality 

Moral  Values  as  Such.  — But  aside  from  the  indirect  value 
of  morality  as  a  condition  for  the  attainment  of  the  other 
goods  of  life,  it  has  a  peculiar  value  of  its  own,  which  is  appre- 
ciated by  the  moral  sentiments  themselves.  It  may  be  that 
in  origin  these  two  kinds  of  value  are  closely  connected  to- 
gether ;  but  as  elements  in  the  happiness  of  the  individual 
they  are  so  distinct  as  to  require  a  separate  appraisement. 
Every  sane  man  feels  and  believes  that  it  is  worth  something 
just  to  be  good ;  and  we  have  to  consider  how  far  this  condi- 
tion may  compensate  for  the  various  ills  of  life. 

Their  Relative  Magnitude.  —  Now,  in  the  first  place,  we 
are  confronted  by  the  fact,  that  moral  values,  like  values  of 
other  kinds,  vary  on  both  sides  of  the  null-point  of  indiffer- 
ence. It  is  not  a  single  value,  or  a  pair  of  opposite  values, 
but  a  whole  range  of  values  that  we  are  called  upon  to  place. 
Sometimes  moral  teachers  have  urged  that  any  positive  moral 
value,  however  low  in  the  scale,  is  greater  than  any  value 
whatsoever  of  any  other  kind.  Such  a  statement  does  not 
ring  true.  It  seems  to  express  a  species  of  fanaticism.  And 
when  we  look  for  evidence  in  its  support,  we  find  none.  For 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND   VALUE       321 

the  plain  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  such  a  comparison  as  the 
formula  suggests  cannot  be  performed.  We  have  no  mental 
machinery  for  performing  it.  What  does  appear  to  be  true 
is  that  (for  reasons  above  given)  in  any  particular  situation 
the  possible  moral  values  must  be  greater  than  any  other 
values  with  which  they  come  in  opposition. 

Let  us  take  an  illustration.  A  Jew,  walking  though  a 
field  of  grain  on  a  Saturday,  feels  hungry.  To  pluck  a  few 
ears  and  thereby  satisfy  his  hunger  is  a  breach  of  a  rule  to 
which  a  powerful  moral  sentiment  attaches.  The  question 
arises  whether  it  is  better  for  him  to  observe  the  rule  or  to 
eat.  But  this  itself  is  a  moral  question.  For  in  order  to 
bring  together  and  compare  values  of  diverse  kinds,  a  more 
comprehensive  sentiment  is  necessary ;  and  where  a  moral 
value  is  concerned,  only  a  moral  sentiment  can  do  this.  If 
the  function  is  usurped  by  a  sentiment  of  any  lower  kind,  the 
moral  value  in  question  is  simply  neglected  and  left  out  of 
account.  Hence,  to  return  to  our  illustration,  a  decision  that 
it  is  better  to  eat  is  equivalent  to  a  decision  that  in  the  case 
in  hand  the  strict  observance  of  the  Sabbath  would  be  im- 
moral ;  and  to  pluck  and  eat  becomes  a  moral  obligation. 
The  conflict  is  removed.  If,  on  the  contrary,  the  decision  is 
that  it  is  better  to  follow  the  rule,  the  man's  hunger  is  not 
thereby  stilled  and  the  conflict  persists.  But  the  moral  value 
now  is  not  simply  that  of  obedience  to  the  rule.  It  is  that 
of  obedience  to  the  rule  despite  urgent  temptation  to  break  it. 
The  value  of  right  conduct  is  not  only  judged  to  be  superior, 
but  it  is  enhanced  by  the  act  of  judgment  itself,  and  enhanced 
in  proportion  to  the  conflicting  value  which  is  foregone. 

General  Conclusion.  —  Putting  this  conclusion  with  the 
former  one  (as  to  the  indirect  effects  of  morality  upon  happi- 
ness), we  may  say  that  morality  is  an  exceedingly  important 
factor  in  the  production  of  happiness,  doubtless  the  most 
important ;  that  good  men  have  far  greater  chances  of  happi- 
ness than  bad  men.  Does  this  leave  no  room  for  individual 
Y 


322    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

exceptions?  Certainly  it  does.  A  man's  character  in  gen- 
eral and  his  moral  character  in  particular  may  well  be  the 
most  important  condition  of  happiness.  But  there  are  num- 
berless other  contributing  factors  —  all  that  goes  together 
under  the  inclusive  name  of  good  or  evil  '  fortune  ' ;  and 
nothing  that  we  have  said  warrants  the  conclusion  that  a 
good  man  cannot  be  unhappy,  or  a  bad  man  happy.  Moral- 
ity and  immorality  are  matters  of  degree ;  and  how  far  either 
can  go  in  counterbalancing  the  effects  of  extraordinary  ex- 
ternal conditions  we  have  no  means  of  determining  with  any 
assurance.  We  can  only  say  that  under  any  external  condi- 
tions, the  better  a  man  is  the  happier  he  is  at  all  times  likely 
to  be ;  and  in  a  lifetime  of  ordinary  length  the  total  likeli- 
hood amounts  to  a  practical  certainty. 

A  simple  illustration  may  help  to  make  this  point  clear. 
The  most  important  conditions  for  success  in  agriculture  are, 
let  us  say,  skill  and  industry  in  the  farmer,  a  fertile  soil, 
and  a  fair  rainfall.  The  better  farmer  with  the  better  farm 
has  every  chance  of  having  the  better  crop.  But  in  any 
particular  year  he  may  not.  A  stroke  of  lightning  or  a  spark 
from  a  passing  engine  may  undo  all  his  toil.  The  sciences 
that  deal  with  human  affairs  can  never  make  universal 
predictions  that  exclude  the  possibility  of  exceptions. 
They  must  be  content,  as  Aristotle  said,  to  set  forth  the 
important  general  tendencies  —  what  is  true  for  the  most 
part  (TO.  <us  €7rt  TO  TroXv).  It  does  not  lie  within  the  scope 
of  ethics  to  guarantee  any  man  happiness. 

The  Universal  Policy.  —  It  is  to  be  observed  that  the  su- 
premacy of  moral  obligations  is  not  here  called  in  question, 
any  more  than  the  farmer's  obligation  to  cultivate  his 
fields  to  the  best  of  his  ability  is  called  in  question  when  we 
admit  the  possibility  of  the  unpredictable  and  unescapable 
lightning  stroke.  We  must  guide  our  lives  according  to  that 
which  we  expect  and  by  means  of  that  which  is  within  our 
control.  The  supreme  practical  problem  is  not,  What 


CHARACTER,  SENTIMENT,  AND   VALUE       323 

condition,  if  it  were  possible,  would  insure  happiness  f  but 
What  mode  of  conduct  is  most  favorable  to  happiness  f  A 
supernatural  revelation,  which  promises  eventual  happiness 
to  all  good  men,  may  greatly  strengthen  the  hearts  of  those 
who  accept  it;  but  it  cannot  alter  the  content  of  a  single 
moral  obligation. 

The  Single  Act  and  the  Persistent  Character.  —  In  con- 
clusion, there  is  one  ancient  and  frequently  revived  miscon- 
ception that  must  be  noticed.  When  we  ask  ourselves 
whether  Regulus  was  the  happier  for  going  back  to  torture 
and  death  at  Carthage  —  whether  a  less  scrupulous  man 
would  not  soon  have  soothed  the  pangs  of  conscience 
and  lived  on  in  perfect  comfort  —  we  should  not  forget  the 
deeper  question :  Is  it  likely  that  Regulus,  being  the  sturdy 
patriot  that  he  was,  got  more  or  less  out  of  life  as  a  whole 
than  he  would  have  gotten  had  he  been  of  poorer  moral 
fiber?  Had  the  very  traits  of  character  that  made  it  impos- 
sible for  him  to  advise  his  people  to  their  hurt  —  had  these 
traits  throughout  his  life  made  him  more  or  less  capable  of 
enjoying  the  glories  of  that  country  for  which  at  last  he 
died?  It  is  one  thing  to  say  that  a  particular  good  act  has 
brought  misery  upon  the  doer.  It  is  another  thing  to  say 
that  the  persistent  character  behind  the  act  has  on  the  whole 
contributed  to  the  man's  unhappiness. 

REFERENCES 
GREEN,  T.  H.,  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  II,  Ch.  II. ;  Book  III, 

Ch.  I,  171-179. 

STEPHEN,  L.,  Science  of  Ethics,  Ch.  II,  Sects.  I-III ;  Chs.  VIII,  X,  XI. 
TAYLOR,  A.  E.,  Problem  of  Conduct,  Ch.  III. 
MACKENZIE,  J.  S.,  Manual  of  Ethics,  Book  I. 
IRONS,  D.,  Psychology  of  Ethics. 

SHAND,  A.  F.,  Character  and  the  Emotions,  in  Mind,  N.  S.,  Vol.  V. 
STOUT,  G.  F.,  Groundwork  of  Psychology,  Ch.  XVII. 
McDouGALL,  W.,  Social  Psychology,  Ch.  V. 
MEZES,  S.,  Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  Chs.  IV,  V, 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS  AND  THE 
OBJECTIVITY  OF  VALUES 

I.   INTRODUCTION 

The  Social  Factor  in  Character  Formation.  —  In  the  fore- 
going account  of  character,  sentiment,  and  value,  we  have 
limited  ourselves,  as  far  as  possible,  to  the  standpoint  of 
individual  psychology.  We  have  studied  these  phenomena 
as  if  they  pertained  to  a  single  mind,  leaving  out  of  account 
the  influence  of  one  mind  upon  another.  This  was  to  com- 
mit an  enormous  abstraction,  to  omit  from  consideration 
the  very  features  of  the  phenomena  which  are  of  most 
illuminating  significance.  Now  an  abstraction  is  not  an 
error;  and  in  every  exposition  of  a  complex  subject  one 
must  begin  by  an  abstraction  of  one  sort  or  another.  But 
to  leave  an  abstraction  unsupplemented  is  indeed  error, 
and  error  of  the  most  dangerous  kind. 

In  treating  of  the  development  of  character,  we  observed 
that  it  is  the  pleasant  or  painful  consequences  of  action  that 
determine  the  formation  of  an  habitual  preference ;  and  we 
noted  in  passing  that  the  attitude  of  other  men  toward  the 
act  is  one  factor  that  goes  to  determine  whether  the  conse- 
quences are  on  the  whole  pleasant  or  unpleasant.  It  is 
the  influence  of  this  factor  that  must  now  occupy  our  atten- 
tion. 

Sympathy:  Pride  and  Shame.  —  Among  the  various 
ways  in  which  we  may  be  affected  by  the  feelings  of  others, 
there  are  two  which  are  of  especial  importance  for  ethical 
theory.  In  the  first  place,  we  may  sympathize;  that  is  to 

324 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    325 

say,  when  we  perceive  the  situation  in  which  the  other  per- 
sons stand  and  the  outward  expressions  of  their  feelings, 
similar  feelings  tend  to  arise  in  us.1  It  is  probable  that  any 
feeling  whatsoever  may  in  some  degree  be  communicated 
or  strengthened  by  sympathy,  though  some  are  much  more 
communicable  than  others.  In  the  second  place  we  are 
sensitive  to  their  expressions  of  admiration  (or  respect)  and 
contempt  for  ourselves,  which  awaken  in  us  the  responsive 
feelings  of  pride  and  shame.  This  is  not  a  mere  case  of  sym- 
pathy, though  sympathy  may  be  involved ;  because  admira- 
tion and  contempt  are  very  different  qualitatively  from  the 
pride  and  humility  that  are  awakened. 

II.  THE  EXCITATION  OF  SYMPATHY 

(1)  The  Direct-action  Theory.  —  The  process  by  which 
sympathetic  feelings  are  aroused  has  been  eagerly  studied 
by  psychologists  and  ethicists,  and  a  variety  of  theories 
have  been  offered  in  explanation  of  it.  Some  have  held 
that  our  inherited  psychophysical  structure  is  such  that  the 
perception  of  the  signs  of  emotion  in  others  directly  produces 
similar  emotions  in  us.  There  is  no  doubt  some  truth  in 
this.  What  we  sometimes  call  '  instinctive  sympathy  '  is  no 
doubt  thus  to  be  explained.  The  sympathy  which  our  ani- 
mal pets  show  for  us  must  generally  be  caused  in  this  way ; 
for  they  can  seldom  have  any  notion  of  the  situation  in  which 
we  stand.  It  is,  however,  to  be  observed  that  when  feelings 
are  thus  directly  aroused  by  the  expression  of  others'  feel- 
ings, the  former  need  not  be  similar  to  the  latter  at  all,  or, 
if  similar,  need  not  be  directed  toward  the  same  objects  (e.g. 
they  may  be  reciprocal).  Thus  anger  may  give  rise  to  fear, 
or  to  anger  against  the  angry  person.  A  baby  that  cannot 
yet  understand  a  single  word,  and  has  never  in  his  whole 

1  The  student  should  note  that  in  ethics  the  word  'sympathy'  is  used  in 
its  etymological  significance :  to  feel  with  another,  whether  in  joy  or  in  grief. 
It  is  not  a  synonym  for  'pity.' 


326    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

life  been  cruelly  used,  cries  when  I  speak  to  him  in  a  threat- 
ening tone  of  voice.  Thus  we  see  that  the  direct  stimula- 
tion of  feelings  by  the  expressions  of  feelings  in  others  may 
or  may  not  be  sympathetic.  Instinctive  sympathy  is 
thus  but  one  sort  of  case  of  a  far  more  general  phenomenon 
—  the  awakening  of  emotion  by  the  signs  of  emotion  in 
others  —  and  is  remarkable  only  for  the  special  circumstance 
that  the  stimulus  is  more  or  less  like  the  response.1 

Criticism.  —  But  it  is  evident  that  most  human  sympathy 
is  of  a  more  intricate  nature  than  this.  Thus  it  has  been 
remarked  that  to  see  some  one  angry  at  some  one  else,  when 
we  are  not  aware  of  the  cause,  has  little  or  no  tendency  to 
move  us  to  sympathetic  anger.  The  signs  of  anger  interest 
us,  and  we  look  to  see  the  why  and  wherefore;  but  it  is 
only  when  we  have  seen  the  situation  that  we  begin  to  be  angry 
ourselves.  And  though  the  signs  of  deep  grief  or  suffering 
may  easily  affect  us  when  we  do  not  understand  the  occasion, 
our  sympathy  is  apt  to  be  greatly  increased  when  we  are 
enlightened.  On  the  other  hand,  when  we  are  unable  to 
perceive  any  expression  of  emotion  at  all,  but  the  situa- 
tion is  one  in  which  we  cannot  imagine  a  man  existing  with- 
out his  feeling  some  emotion,  our  sympathy  may  be  even 
greater  than  it  would  be  if  his  cries  of  joy  or  grief  were  ring- 
ing in  our  ears. 

(2)  The  Substitution  Theory.  —  Now  just  what  part  does 
the  knowledge  of  the  situation  play  in  the  matter?  It 
has  been  widely  held  that  in  order  to  sympathize  we  must 
'  put  ourselves  in  the  other 'man's  place  '  —  imagine  ourselves 
enjoying  or  enduring  what  he  enjoys  or  endures.  Various 
evidences  have  been  adduced  in  support  of  this  theory,  and 

1  It  is  much  the  same  with  the  so-called  instinctive  imitation.  The  act  of 
pecking  in  a  young  chick  is  aroused  in  various  ways :  by  the  sight  of  a  small 
moving  object ;  also  by  the  sound  of  his  mother's  pecking.  When  the  latter 
is  the  stimulus,  we  call  the  act  imitative,  because  the  chick  is  doing  what  its 
mother  does ;  but  the  phenomenon  is  very  different  from  the  attentive,  dis- 
criminating imitation  of  a  child. 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    327 

the  usages  of  common  speech  are  obviously  in  accordance 
with  it.  "  When  we  see  a  stroke  aimed  and  just  about  to 
fall  upon  the  leg  or  arm  of  another  person,  we  naturally 
shrink  and  draw  back  our  own  leg  or  our  own  arm ;  and  when 
it  does  fall,  we  feel  it  hi  some  measure,  and  are  hurt  by  it 
as  well  as  the  sufferer.  The  mob,  when  they  are  gazing  at 
a  dancer  on  the  slack  rope,  naturally  writhe  and  twist  and 
balance  their  own  bodies,  as  they  see  him  do,  and  as  they 
feel  that  they  themselves  must  do  if  in  his  situation."  1 
Furthermore,  in  so  far  as  lack  of  experience  or  the  peculiar 
circumstances  of  one's  life  make  it  difficult  or  impossible 
for  one  to  imagine  himself  in  the  given  situation,  sympathetic 
feeling  is  greatly  weakened.  The  rich  of  the  third  genera- 
tion —  those  who  have  inherited  wealth  which  they  have  not 
seen  their  fathers  earn  —  are  seldom  charitably  inclined. 

Criticism.  —  This  theory  is  a  very  useful  one,  because  it 
accords  well  with  the  conditions  under  which  sympathetic 
emotion  arises.  But  it  is  a  misinterpretation  of  our  experi- 
ence, and  careful  introspection  at  once  refutes  it.  It  is 
very  seldom  indeed  that  we  imagine  ourselves  in  another 
man's  place.  We  see  him  struck  and  we  quiver  at  the  blow. 
But  this  is  not  imagination.  It  is  a  real  quiver,  and  it  is 
directly  aroused  by  the  sight  of  the  blow ;  and  it  forms  one 
of  the  elements  into  which  our  perception  of  the  other  man's 
experience  may  be  analyzed.  We  do  not  first  see  the  blow, 
then  imagine  the  smart,  and  then  shrink  away.  We  see 
and  shrink;  and  instead  of  imagining  pain  we  really  feel 
the  disagreeable  tension  into  which  our  bodies  have  been 
thrown.  And  in  so  far  as  imagination  enters  into  the  experi- 
ence it  is  his  condition  we  imagine,  not  a  supposed  condi- 
tion of  our  own.  The  sympathetic  observer  is  not  think- 
ing of  himself  at  all.  To  be  sure  he  does  feel  very  much  as 
if  he  were  in  the  other  man's  place,  but  not  because  he  imag- 
ines himself  there. 

i  Adam  Smith,  Theory  of  the  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  I,  Sect.  I,  Ch.  I. 


328    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

(3)  Emotions  Arise  from  the  Situations  as  Such.  —  How- 
ever defective  this  substitution  theory  may  be,  it  is  doubt- 
less right  in  emphasizing  the  part  that  the  perception  of  the 
situation  plays  in  exciting  sympathetic  feeling.  But  the 
true  explanation  of  the  phenomenon  is  probably  much  sim- 
pler. Our  emotions  are  not  in  the  beginning  so  self-centered 
as  is  often  supposed.  They  attach  rather  to  the  situations 
as  such  than  to  ourselves  as  the  center  of  the  situations.  We 
are  afraid,  let  us  say,  to  cross  a  field  where  a  bull  is  at  large ; 
but  the  resulting  situation  is  terrible  in  itself  and  not  simply 
as  our  situation.  Why,  then,  do  we  feel  it  so  much  more 
keenly  when  we  ourselves  are  running  the  danger?  In  the 
first  place,  we  may  not.  Our  terror  may  be  immeasurably 
less  than  it  would  be  if  it  were  a  wife  or  child  that  was  in 
peril.  A  person  in  whom  we  had  less  interest  otherwise 
would  of  course  give  less  interest  to  the  situation  as  a  whole ; l 
and  if  the  course  of  our  mental  development  has  been  such 
as  to  make  us  so  self-centered  that  we  are  deeply  interested 
in  nobody  but  ourselves,  then  most  assuredly  our  capacity 
must  be  very  limited.  Even  a  hearty  hatred  (if  there  were 
no  actual  anger  at  the  moment)  would  be  more  favorable  to 
sympathy  than  this.  But,  in  the  second  place,  if  we  do  feel 
greater  fear  for  ourselves,  that  is  largely  because  when  we 
are  the  center  of  the  situation,  we  are  generally  in  a  better 
position  to  be  impressed  by  it.  For  example,  the  nearness 
of  the  charging  animal,  the  noise  of  his  hoofs,  the  sense  of 
his  impending  bulk,  are  large  factors  in  our  terror  of  the 
bull. 

Conclusion.  —  If  we  are  right,  sympathy  is  of  two  kinds : 
first,  the  direct  excitation  of  feeling  by  the  perception  of  the 
signs  of  like  feeling  in  another ;  and,  secondly,  the  excitation 
of  feeling  by  the  perception  of  the  situation  in  which  another 
stands.  However,  in  common  experience  the  two  kinds  of 

1  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  person  in  danger  is  an  essential  part 
of  the  situation.  If  he  were  not  present,  the  situation  would  not  exist.' 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    329 

sympathy  are  not  clearly  distinguishable.  On  the  one  hand, 
the  other  man's  expressions  of  feeling  help  us  to  compre- 
hend the  situation.  If  he  were  insensible  (or,  rather,  if  we 
felt  him  to  be  insensible),  the  situation  would  disappear,  just 
as  it  would  if  the  man  himself  were  snatched  away.  On  the 
other  hand,  to  perceive  the  general  situation  often  helps 
to  fix  our  attention  upon  the  expressions  of  feeling,  or  even 
causes  us  to  imagine  them ;  and  in  this  way  the  effect  may 
be  greatly  heightened.1  J 

III.  ADMIRATION  AND  CONTEMPT,  PRIDE  AND  SHAME 
Pre-human  Origin.  —  So  much  'for  thof  theory  of  sym- 
pathy. We  need  speak  only  briefly  of  the  feelings  of  admira- 
tion and  contempt,  and  pride  and  shame.  These  are  very 
ancient  feelings.  They  are,  hi  fact,  pre-human  in  origin, 
as  is  shown  by  their  being  found  in  many  of  the  higher  ani- 
mals; with  this  difference,  to  be  sure,  that  in  the  animals 
they  are  occasioned  only  by  a  narrow  range  of  natural  stimuli, 
while  in  us  they  may  be  awakened  by  almost  anything  good 
or  bad  with  which  any  one  can  be  associated. 

Interrelations.  —  The  four  feelings  stand  in  a  peculiar 
rectangular  relation  to  one  another.  Pride  and  shame  are 
opposites,  and  so  are  admiration  and  contempt.  One  feels 
pride  (or  shame)  on  account  of  the  same  things  in  or  belong- 
ing to  oneself,  as  arouse  admiration  (or  contempt)  when  they 
are  found  in  or  belonging  to  another.  We  are  in  some  degree 
moved  to  admiration  or  contempt  for  a  man  by  anything 
connected  with  him  that  arouses  our  feelings  of  approval 
or  disapproval,  i.e.  that  strikes  us  as  being  in  any  way  good 
or  bad.  Any  notable  quality  of  mind  or  body,  any  external 
advantage  or  defect,  will  serve.  And  similarly  we  are  stim- 

1  The  above  account  deals  explicitly  only  with  emotion  that  is  felt  for 
another.  But  it  can  be  applied  without  difficulty  to  the  stimulation  or 
strengthening  of  emotion  that  is  felt  on  one's  own  account.  The  cry  of 
fear  is  itself  fear-inspiring ;  and  furthermore  it  forcibly  draws  our  attention 
to  the  particular  danger  in  which  we  too  may  stand. 


330    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

ulated  to  pride  or  shame  by  any  such  quality  or  circum- 
stance connected  with  ourselves. 

Furthermore,  pride  is  easily  awakened  or  strengthened 
by  the  perception  of  another's  admiration ;  and  this  relation 
also  holds  between  shame  and  contempt ;  in  fact,  in  secret 
concerns,  where  admiration  and  contempt  are  out  of  the 
question,  pride  and  shame  are  seldom  intense.  Pride  might 
almost  be  described  as  the  expectation  of  admiration,  and 
shame  as  the  expectation  of  contempt.  For  these  and  simi- 
lar reasons  it  has  sometimes  been  held  that  admiration  and 
contempt  are  of  earlier  origin.  It  seems,  however,  that  if 
the  one  admired*br  despised  were  not  in  some  way  susceptible 
to  being  influenced  by  the  fact,  the  emotion  would  have 
much  less  excuse  for  being.  The  probability  therefore  is  that 
the  four  emotions  have  grown  up  together.  At  any  rate, 
they  are  all  far  older  than  humanity. 

The  Exaggeration  of  Values.  —  A  point  which  is  of  especial 
importance  for  ethical  theory  is  this :  that  pride  or  shame, 
when  once  aroused,  reacts  powerfully  upon  our  estimate  of 
the  thing  or  quality  to  which  it  attaches.  To  feel  pride  in 
anything  is  to  feel  its  excellence  with  redoubled  intensity; 
to  be  mortified  because  of  it  is  to  be  doubly  conscious  of  its 
shortcomings.  This  does  not  mean  that  a  man  necessarily 
thinks  better  of  a  thing  because  it  is  his  own.  Some  men  do 
have  a  tendency  in  this  direction;  but  many  others  show 
just  the  opposite  tendency.  But  any  man  thinks  decidedly 
better  or  worse  of  a  thing  through  which  his  self-respect  has 
been  flattered  or  hurt. 

IV.  THE  EDUCATION  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS 
Operation  of  the  Social  Factor.  —  It  is  easy  to  see  how 
sympathy  affects  the  formation  of  sentiments.  It  makes 
of  them  not  so  much  individual  affairs  as  common  possessions 
of  the  social  group.  Every  peculiarly  individual  tendency 
to  feeling  is  discouraged.  Every  tendency  that  is  in  accord 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    331 

with  the  sentiments  of  one's  companions  is  exaggerated. 
The  effect  on  each  occasion  may  be  slight;  but  for  most 
men  the  process  is  incessant  throughout  their  whole  lives, 
and  its  shaping  influence  is  not  to  be  escaped. 

Similar,  but  much  intensified,  is  the  effect  of  admiration 
and  contempt. 

The  Determination  of  the  Environment.  —  Before  the 
education  of  the  individual  begins  the  sentiments  of  other 
men  have  already  done  much  to  shape  and  select  the  environ- 
ment in  which  he  is  to  live  and  grow.  The  objects  by  which 
he  is  surrounded  have  almost  without  exception  been  changed 
or  moved  in  response  to  some  one's  valuation.  And  the 
human  environment,  the  characters  of  men  and  institu- 
tions, are  tissues  of  sentiments.  The  individual's  experi- 
ence is  thus  from  the  beginning  a  select  one ;  and  the  stand- 
ards which  he  forms  must  be  built  up  from  the  material 
with  which  existing  standards  have  provided  him.  He  can- 
not choose  his  world.  It  has  been  chosen  for  him.  He  may 
have  his  peculiar  preferences ;  but  their  range  is  limited  from 
the  outset  by  the  preferences  of  others. 

The  Contact  of  Tastes.  —  But  even  in  the  environment 
thus  provided  the  individual's  preferences  are  not  due  to 
his  inherited  constitution  alone,  or  to  his  own  experience 
of  the  qualities  of  men  and  things.  At  every  turn  he  has 
impressed  upon  him  the  feelings  of  his  associates.  He  is 
constantly  the  witness  of  their  likes  and  dislikes,  and  is 
moved  to  sympathetic  likes  and  dislikes  himself.  And,  more 
than  that,  the  likes  and  dislikes  of  others  are  manifested 
toward  himself  and  all  that  is  connected  with  him,  and  the 
powerful  influence  of  pride  and  shame  is  thus  thrown  in 
the  direction  of  the  common  sentiment. 

How  Sentiments  are  '  Communicated.'  —  We  speak  else- 
where of  the  '  communication  of  sentiments/  The  phrase 
is  useful ;  but  from  our  present  standpoint  we  can  see  how 
inexact,  or  at  least  compressed,  it  is.  A  sentiment  is  not 


352    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

communicated  as  a  whole.  It  must  grow  up  in  each  man 
under  the  influence  of  his  associates.1  An  example  may  be 
taken  from  the  aesthetic  sentiments.  There  is  no  direct 
means  by  which  one  man  can  impart  to  another  his  taste 
in  singing.  He  may  sing  to  him,  or  take  him  where  songs 
can  be  heard ;  and  he  can  express  to  him  his  own  varying 
appreciation  of  the  composition  and  rendering.  And  when 
the  pupil  asks  for  a  song  or  criticizes  it,  or  (better  still)  sings 
it  or  composes  it  himself,  the  teacher  can  express  his  approval 
or  disapproval  of  the  choice,  the  criticism,  the  performance, 
the  creation.  In  this  way  the  pupil  grows  into  the  likeness 
of  his  master,  and  becomes,  as  we  say,  a  typical  member  of 
his  '  school/  If  such  a  process  as  this  is  fairly  to  be  called 
the  '  communication  '  of  sentiments,  we  may  let  the  phrase 
stand.  At  any  rate  we  have  no  right  to  mean  anything  more 
by  it. 

Analogy  of  the  Concept.  —  The  like  is  true  of  the  communi- 
cation of  concepts,  and  the  analogy  may  perhaps  again  be 
of  service  to  us.  No  man  can  directly  impart  a  concept, 
whether  it  be  the  concept  of  a  particular  thing  or  of  a  type 
of  things.  All  that  can  be  done  is  to  provide  a  certain  envi- 
ronment and  to  direct  attention  to  the  important  features 
of  the  resulting  experience.  The  organization  of  images 
into  concepts  is  a  process  the  necessity  of  which  in  each  indi- 
vidual mind  cannot  be  obviated,  though  by  appropriate 
suggestions  it  can  be  spared  many  useless  deviations.  This 
is  the  essential  function  of  the  teacher.  And  yet,  limited 
as  this  function  at  each  moment  appears,  its  gross  results 

1  In  the  last  two  chapters  we  have  given  two  strikingly  different  accounts 
of  the  function  of  morality.  First  it  was  the  essential  condition  of  social 
unity ;  then  it  was  the  essential  condition  of  unity  of  character.  We  can 
now  understand  how  these  two  functions  are  combined.  It  is  through  social 
intercourse  that  the  human  personality  grows.  The  rupture  of  that  inter- 
course on  any  side  means  inevitably  an  arrested  development  on  that  side  — 
either  malcoordination  or  downright  atrophy.  Hence  it  is  that  only  the 
supremacy  of  the  moral  sentiments  can  insure  a  well-rounded  personality. 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    333 

are  very  great.  The  little  boy  of  two  does  not  even  recognize 
a  policeman;  and  yet  some  day  he  and  his  father  may  be 
gravely  discussing  such  topics  as  the  attitude  of  socialism 
toward  the  institution  of  private  property ! 

Individual  and  Social  Differences.  —  In  what  we  have  said 
we  must  not  be  understood  to  imply  that  individual  differences 
in  sentiments  (or  in  concepts)  do  not  exist  among  members 
of  the  same  social  group.  They  do,  of  course,  as  we  are  all 
well  aware.  But  where  men's  sentiments  have  been  formed 
by  the  same  tradition,  the  greatest  individual  differences 
are  small,  compared  with  differences  that  are  common 
between  representatives  of  different  traditions.  A  lover  of 
Wagner  and  a  lover  of  Meyerbeer  may  fancy  themselves 
at  opposite  poles  of  the  musical  world ;  but,  if  so,  they  little 
know  how  wide  that  world  is.  They  are  next-door  neigh- 
bors when  it  comes  to  a  comparison  with  a  Japanese  critic. 
Yes,  and  greatly  as  the  Japanese  musicians  may  differ  among 
themselves  they  will  all  look  alike  to  the  student  from  Paris 
or  Vienna;  they  are  so  far  away  that  they  show  but  as  a 
single  point.  The  differences  within  the  limits  of  a  common 
musical  tradition  (like  the  differences  within  a  common 
religion)  appear  striking  to  us,  because  they  bring  us  into 
active  opposition  with  one  another.  But,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  is  only  because  there  is  a  large  fund  of  sentiments 
shared  between  us  that  opposition  is  possible.  And  besides, 
when  we  seek  to  compare  individual  differences  with  social 
differences  we  must  not  forget  a  point  that  is  emphasized 
in  another  chapter :  that  there  are  societies  upon  societies 
within  societies.  The  lover  of  Wagner  and  the  lover  of 
Meyerbeer,  who  cleave  to  the  one  and  despise  the  other, 
may  very  well  have  had  characteristically  different  individual 
bents  from  the  start.  But  though  they  are  both  inheritors 
of  a  common  European  tradition,  the  family  and  local  in- 
fluences under  which  they  have  been  brought  up  will  prob- 
ably account  for  most  of  the  contrast  between  them. 


334    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Social  Character  of  the  Sentiments.  —  The  consequence 
is  that  it  is  possible  to  give  a  connected  and  intelligent  ac- 
count of  the  analysis  and  development  of  important  classes 
of  human  sentiments  without  paying  any  attention  to  indi- 
vidual peculiarities  at  all  —  except,  perhaps,  to  brand  them 
as  peculiarities  and  set  them  aside  as  of  no  interest  to  the 
discussion.  In  such  an  account  the  individual  is  not  re- 
garded as  a  cause;  he  appears  only  as  a  more  or  less  typical 
illustration  of  social  conditions.  There  is  inevitable  inexact- 
ness, no  doubt,  in  this  sort  of  procedure.  The  individual 
is  a  cause,  as  well  as  an  illustration.  But  every  large  view 
must  be  had  at  the  cost  of  inaccuracy  of  detail ;  and  our 
natural  human  interest  in  striking  personalities  is  so  great, 
that  the  danger  that  lies  in  overlooking  the  importance  of 
individual  differences  is  far  less  likely  to  be  serious  than  the 
danger  of  overestimating  them. 

For,  indeed,  a  developed  sentiment  is  almost  beyond  indi- 
vidual control.  It  seems  so  impalpable,  so  shadowy  a  thing, 
that  many  a  bold  innovator  has  thought  that  he  could  banish 
it  at  a  word.  But  his  words  and  his  blows  and  his  tears 
leave  scarcely  a  trace  upon  it.  The  chances  are  that  in 
his  own  heart  of  hearts,  in  depths  of  his  nature  beyond  his 
introspection,  he  is  as  much  subject  to  it  as  any  one;  and 
in  some  sudden  crisis  he  is  astonished  at  his  '  weakness/ 
He  believes,  let  us  say,  in  free  love  —  is  outraged  at  the 
thought  of  a  legal  or  religious  marriage.  But  despite  him- 
self he  makes  an  exception  of  his  daughter's  case,  and  feels 
surprisingly  relieved  when  she  is  united  in  the  conventional 
way  to  the  young  man  of  her  choice. 

Summary.  —  To  resume :  Among  the  factors  which  go 
to  determine  the  development  of  character  and  sentiments, 
the  feelings  of  one's  associates  have  a  commanding  place. 
Sentiments  are  not  directly  communicated ;  but  by  means 
of  sympathy  and  the  excitation  of  pride  and  shame  they  are 
constrained  to  develop  in  each  individual  in  general  con- 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    335 

formity  with  the  sentiments  of  those  around  him.  They 
thus  present  the  appearance  of  being  a  social  rather  than  an 
individual  function. 

The  Moral  Sentiments.  —  In  all  this  no  special  mention 
has  been  made  of  the  moral  sentiments.  This  was  by  design, 
with  the  thought  that  by  not  referring  to  them  in  particular 
we  might  emphasize  the  fact  that  in  these  respects  there  is 
nothing  peculiar  about  them.  For  they,  too,  are  '  com- 
municated '  by  the  instrumentality  of  sympathy,  reenforced 
by  pride  and  shame ;  and  the  uniformity  of  sentiment  that 
results  is  so  great  that  it  has  often  been  explained  as  due 
to  inborn  human  nature.  If  the  moral  sentiments  call  for 
any  special  remark,  it  is  that  they  exhibit  the  social  control 
of  sentiment-formation  at  its  highest  intensity.  The  sugges- 
tions are,  as  a  rule,  more  frequent  and  more  forcible  than 
in  any  other  department,  especially  during  the  formative 
period  of  life.  The  moral  character  of  each  individual  is 
constantly  finding  expression  in  action  by  which  the  atten- 
tion of  his  companions  is  attracted,  and  their  approval  or 
disapproval  aroused ;  and  hence  any  divergence  from  the 
accepted  type  stands  the  greater  change  of  being  promptly 
suppressed. 

V.  THE  OBJECTIVITY  OF  VALUES 

Values  as  Relative  to  the  Individual.  —  We  must  now 
look  to  see  what  effect  the  social  nature  of  the  sentiments 
has  upon  valuation  in  general  and  upon  moral  valuation  in 
particular.  In  our  previous  treatment,  we  have  looked  upon 
values  as  relative  to  the  individual  character.  As  habitual 
preferences  are  formed,  the  objects  of  preference  are  sorted 
out  and  given  a  serial  order;  and  their  place  in  the  series 
is  their  value.  To  be  very  good  is  to  belong  to  a  type  that 
has  been  ranked  high ;  to  be  excellent  is  to  belong  to  a  type 
that  has  been  ranked  still  higher  —  the  ranking  being  a 
function  of  the  individual  consciousness.  From  this  point 


336    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

of  view,  what  is  good  with  reference  to  one  man  may  well 
be  bad  with  reference  to  another,  not  because  of  any  difference 
in  its  effects  upon  the  two  men,  but  because  of  some  differ- 
ence in  their  character-development.  Now  this  view  is  not 
wholly  false,  and  we  shall  have  occasion  to  return  to  it ;  but 
it  needs  serious  supplementation. 

Values  as  Relative  to  the  Society.  —  Since,  despite  indi- 
vidual variations,  sentiments  are,  in  the  main,  social  func- 
tions, it  follows  that  values  are,  in  the  main,  relative  not  to 
individuals  but  to  societies.  Polite  and  impolite,  beautiful 
and  ugly,  just  and  unjust,  cheap  and  dear,  are  not  subject 
to  personal  desires  —  even  though,  of  course,  if  all  personal 
desires  were  taken  away  the  values  would  be  gone  also. 
They  are  superindividual,  and  hence  objective;  that  is  to 
say,  they  stand  to  each  man  as  a  reality  outside  himself, 
by  which  his  judgments  may  be  criticized  as  true  or  false. 
His  own  subjective  scale  of  values  is,  so  far  as  it  is  his  own, 
regarded  as  a  mere  representation  (which  may  be  more  or 
less  accurate)  of  the  real  values  of  things.  That  he  con- 
gratulates himself  upon  his  deportment  may  not  prevent 
his  being  utterly  '  impossible  ' ;  that  he  adores  Meyerbeer 
does  not  prove  that  that  composer  was  a  genius;  that  he 
condemns  the  acquisition  of  California  may  still  leave  it  an 
amply  justified  piece  of  statecraft;  and  his  satisfaction 
with  his  new  suit  of  clothes  may  simply  indicate  how  thor- 
oughly he  was  cheated. 

Are  Values  Subjective  or  Objective?  —  We  are  thus 
brought  to  the  consideration  of  one  of  the  good  old  paradoxes 
that  has  formed  the  staple  of  so  much  controversy,  popular 
as  well  as  learned.  From  one  point  of  view  nothing  seems 
more  obvious  than  the  subjectivity  of  values.  "  There's 
nothing  either  good  or  bad  but  thinking  makes  it  so  "  — 
is  not  this  true?  " There's  no  disputing  about  tastes"  — 
has  not  that  become  proverbial?  And  yet  the  very  fact 
that  men  do  dispute  about  tastes  is  sufficient  to  prove  that 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    337 

there  is  another  side  to  the  question.  When  some  one  says 
that  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco  is  beautiful,  he  is  recording, 
to  be  sure,  an  individual  impression.  But  he  means  to  do 
more  than  that.  He  means  to  say  that  the  bay  is  beautiful, 
no  matter  what  you  or  I  may  think  about  it  —  yes,  no  matter 
though  he  himself  had  not  had  the  sense  to  appreciate  it. 
He  means  that  its  beauty  is  a  fact,  as  palpable  as  the  fact 
that  the  waters  of  the  bay  are  salt.  And  hence  if  this  fact 
is  denied  he  insists  upon  it,  and  even  endeavors  to  prove  it. 

The  case  of  economic  values  illustrates  the  general  prob- 
lem very  well.  Has  a  thing  a  real  value,  independent  of 
what  its  owner  can  get  for  it,  or  is  such  a  '  real  value  ;  an 
idle  abstraction?  On  the  one  hand,  an  affirmative  answer 
seems  necessary,  because,  if  there  is  no  real  value,  how  can 
we  ever  speak  of  a  price  as  being  too  high  or  too  low,  or  of  a 
market  as  being  inflated  or  depressed?  Or  consider  the 
case  of  a  manuscript  ascribed  to  Oliver  Cromwell  and  easily 
salable  for  several  hundred  pounds.  A  prying  expert  notices 
that  the  loop  of  a  certain  letter  is  such  as  Cromwell  never 
made,  and  proves  the  manuscript  to  be  the  work  of  a  humble 
secretary ;  and  its  market  price  drops  to  a  few  shillings. 
Was  not  the  manuscript  really  worth  exactly  as  much  before 
as  after  the  discovery  ?  —  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  there 
were  not,  and  never  would  be,  any  demand  at  all  for  an  article, 
it  would  surely  have  no  economic  value.  And  things  surely 
do  rise  in  value  as  the  demand  for  them  increases. 

Is  there  a  real  beauty,  or  is  the  beauty  of  a  thing  only 
what  men  take  it  to  be  ?  Is  there  a  real  moral  good  or  evil, 
or  are  these  too  only  projections  of  men's  fancy?  When 
this  last  question  is  boldly  put,  the  full  import  of  the  con- 
troversy comes  into  view.  Morality  is  a  species  of  value 
for  which  men  are  not  seldom  called  upon  to  sacrifice  wealth 
and  reputation  and  health  and  life.  Now  if  they  become 
convinced  that  it  was  merely  subjective,  heroic  resolution 
or  even  ordinary  right  living  would  become  impossible.  To 


338    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

be  sure,  if  the  moral  values  were  illusory,  there  would  be 
the  same  reason  for  regarding  every  other  kind  of  value  as 
illusory.  But,  in  the  first  place,  men  never  can  bring  them- 
selves to  a  complete  skepticism  of  values ;  and  when  the  higher 
kinds  lose  their  appeal  they  simply  yield  it  to  the  lower. 
And  in  the  second  place,  in  so  far  as  values  of  every  kind  are 
rejected,  and  the  individual  reverts  (in  this  respect)  to  the 
condition  of  his  earliest  infancy,  there  still  remain  the  inhibit- 
ing power  of  pain  and  the  attractive  power  of  pleasure,  which 
precede  and  underlie  the  whole  development  of  valuation. 
Men  need  to  believe  in  a  something  beyond  themselves ; 
they  need  an  external  support  upon  which  to  stand.  Turn 
thoughts  and  efforts  inward,  and  they  are  dissipated  in  the 
melancholy  hedonism  of  the  grown  infant. 

Reconciliation.  —  Now,  if  our  view  of  the  social  nature 
of  sentiment  is  correct,  the  escape  from  all  this  difficulty 
lies  in  observing  that  the  issues  as  thus  presented  are  not 
clear.  It  is  not  fair  to  ask  whether  values,  economic  or 
moral  or  what  you  please,  are  relative  to  human  feeling  or 
objectively  real.  They  are  both.  The  question  would 
not  be  wholly  fair  even  if  human  sentiments  were  not  essen- 
tially social.  For,  even  so,  a  man's  formed  character  is  a 
pretty  stable  organization ;  and  to  be  relative  to  that  means 
something  very  definite.  Even  if  tastes  did  differ  as  end- 
lessly as  has  sometimes  been  supposed,  it  remains  a  very 
real  quality  of  the  object  that  it  can  win  A's  approval  and 
cannot  win  B's.  It  is  a  quality  that  at  least  reaches  out 
beyond  the  individual's  momentary  impulse  and  includes 
his  past  and  future,  so  long  as  his  character  (in  the  relevant 
respect)  remains  substantially  unchanged. 

But,  we  repeat,  when  the  social  nature  of  valuation  is 
considered,  the  alternative  between  objective  reality  and 
relativity  to  human  feelings  is  doubly  unsound.  For  here 
the  standard  of  reference  transcends  the  character  of  the 
individual  as  such,  and  is  measurably  independent  of  the 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    339 

most  radical  changes  in  his  tastes  and  preferences.  It  is 
the  character  of  the  society  that  fixes  the  distinction  be- 
tween good  and  evil ;  and  this,  for  the  individual,  through- 
out the  whole  course  of  his  life,  makes  it  for  most  intents 
and  purposes  an  objective  distinction.  The  ugly  girl  does 
not  simply  seem  ugly.  She  is  ugly ;  and  the  thought  that 
in  various  foreign  climes  she  might  be  greatly  admired  does 
nothing  to  mitigate  the  awful  fact.  A  comedy  that  fails 
is  a  failure.  The  poet  cannot  (as  Lamb  suggested)  "  write 
for  antiquity."  And  though  remodeling  the  truth  is  a  po- 
lite art  in  Canton  and  Singapore,  it  is  plain  lying  nearer 
home. 

Apparent  Skepticism.  —  The  dependence  of  values  upon 
the  sentiments  prevalent  in  a  society  is  generally  not  present 
to  men's  consciousness.  So  long  and  so  far  as  the  society 
remains  unitary  and  the  sentiments  remain  substantially 
unanimous,  the  values  are  looked  upon  as  self-subsistent. 
Even  an  economic  value,  when  it  has  persisted  for  sometime, 
seems  to  be  no  product  of  human  demand,  but  a  part  of  the 
established  order  of  nature.  And  when  divisions  and  dis- 
sensions arise,  they  are  very  commonly  settled  in  each  man's 
mind  by  his  identifying  his  own  standards  with  the  objec- 
tively real  ones,  and  condemning  the  standards  of  his  ad- 
versaries as  false ;  or,  if  modesty  and  a  due  sense  of  human 
fallibility  forbid,  both  standards  are  confessed  to  be  prob- 
ably more  or  less  false,  and  the  true  standard  remains  in  the 
unknown,  perhaps  unknowable,  beyond.  In  either  case, 
the  independence  of  values  from  all  relativity  to  human 
feeling,  whether  individual  or  social,  is  not  called  in  question. 
Hence  when  the  notion  of  such  a  relativity  does  come  to 
men's  minds,  it  is  only  natural  that  it  should  present  itself 
as  a  sort  of  skeptical  disillusionment  —  as  if  no  value  that 
did  not  transcend  all  human  preferences  could  possibly 
be  real. 


340    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

VI.  THE  FUNCTION  OF  THE  ELITE 

Values  Relative  to  the  Elite.  —  But  there  are  certain 
important  facts  with  regard  to  social  standards,  of  which 
due  account  has  yet  to  be  taken.  Society,  as  we  have  so 
often  repeated,  is  not  a  simple  organization ;  and  as  civili- 
zation advances  it  becomes  increasingly  complex.  But  this 
means  that  it  may  contain,  and,  indeed,  as  a  rule  it  does  con- 
tain, a  diversity  of  traditions  and  a  conflict  of  sentiments 
upon  every  important  subject.  This  is  glaringly  evident 
in  the  case  of  the  division  of  classes,  with  their  characteris- 
tically different  notions  of  honor  and  propriety.  It  is  evi- 
dent, too,  in  the  divisions  of  creeds  and  parties  and  aesthetic 
cults.  And  there  are  innumerable  minor  divisions,  the 
traditions  of  family,  school,  office,  etc.,  etc.  To  say,  there- 
fore, that  it  is  the  sentiments  of  the  society  that  fix  values 
is  not  a  sufficient  statement.  Each  value  is  fixed  by  the  senti- 
ments of  a  select  society,  a  body  of  elite;  and  to  recognize 
this  value  as  a  true  one  is  at  the  same  time  to  recognize  this 
body  of  elite  as  being  the  proper  and  competent  judge  of 
the  matter.  (If  an  individual  is  thus  distinguished,  it  is 
generally  as  a  representative  of  his  class  or  coterie.) 

Relation  of  the  Elite  to  the  Larger  Society.  —  This  is  no 
more  than  must  needs  follow  from  the  acceptance  of  values  as 
objective  facts.  To  believe  the  fact  is  to  credit  the  witness. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  observation  that  we  do  credit  some 
men  as  being  better  judges  than  some  others  is  often  accepted 
as  conclusive  proof  that  values  cannot  have  a  subjective 
reference.  For  if  values  depended  on  the  judge  —  it  is  said 
—  how  could  one  judge  be  better  than  another?  Each 
would  simply  be  right  in  his  own  opinion.  It  should  be 
noticed,  however,  that  when  the  limits  of  a  common  social 
tradition  are  left  behind  —  as,  for  example,  in  the  compari- 
son of  Japanese  and  European  painting  —  the  subordination 
of  judges  stops ;  a  double  standard  of  excellence  is  recognized. 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    341 

When,  say,  a  Parisian  critic  sets  himself  the  task  of  learning 
to  appreciate  the  Japanese  art,  his  problem  is  substantially 
this :  to  initiate  himself  into  the  tradition  of  the  cultivated 
Japanese  public  —  to  grow  into  their  likeness,  that  he  may 
perceive  and  respond  even  as  they  do.  It  is  only  within 
a  larger  social  organization  that  a  select  society  can  occupy 
its  favored  position  as  a  superior  court.  It  acts  (to  use  the 
old  simile)  as  an  organ  of  the  larger  society,  performing  its 
critical  function  with  far  greater  efficiency  by  reason  of  its 
special  adaptation,  but  performing  it  always  within,  and 
with  reference  to,  the  society  as  a  whole. 

Have  the  Elite  Extraordinary  Faculties  ?  —  In  what  con- 
sists the  superiority  of  the  e*lite?  It  is  not  easy  to  reply. 
Sometimes  an  exclusive  circle  has  attributed  the  superiority 
which  they  profess  to  a  peculiar  endowment  of  sensibility 
or  extraordinary  faculty  of  intelligence  —  as  in  the  case  of 
the  mutual-admiration  society  of  the  Romanticists  in  Ger- 
many. But  though  men  of  this  stamp  are  confident  of  their 
own  distinction,  and  though  they  often  impose  on  the  general 
public  for  a  time,  their  standing  is  insecure,  and  they  soon 
fall  into  contempt.  Now,  to  be  sure,  it  may  seem  to  be 
abstractly  possible  that  such  a  body  of  men  are  right  in  their 
estimate  of  themselves.  But  if  this  is  the  case  it  will  never- 
theless be  impossible  for  us  to  take  account  of  it  in  our  theory. 
For  we,  like  the  rest  of  the  academic  world,  are  plain  work- 
aday folk,  not  singular  beings  with  peculiar  feelings.  So, 
even  if  the  singular  beings  are  right,  we  have  no  means  of 
verifying  the  fact.  And  an  unverifiable  fact  might  as  well 
be  no  fact  at  all.  Consequently,  for  the  purposes  of  science, 
it  is  an  inevitable  working  assumption  that  the  exclusive 
circles  are  wrong,  and  the  ultimate  popular  judgment  right. 
The  men  who  sincerely  claim  to  have  extraordinary  faculties 
must  be  set  down  as  self-deceiving  charlatans.  Besides, 
there  is  always  this  to  be  said :  in  so  far  as  these  men  are 
singular,  their  singularity  sets  them  apart  from  us,  makes 


342    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

them  to  all  intents  and  purposes  foreigners  in  our  midst. 
They  are  not  part  of  our  society,  and  hence  cannot  function 
as  our  elite. 

They  are  Well  Developed.  —  But  if  this  be  so,  what  can 
constitute  the  superiority  of  the  true  elite?  If,  just  as  the 
only  facts  worth  talking  about  are  generally  verifiable  facts, 
so  the  only  values  worth  talking  about  are  generally  appre- 
ciable values,  then  is  not  everybody  of  the  elite?  No,  be- 
cause few  men  are  what  they  might  be.  The  elite  have 
been  fortunate  in  a  special  development  of  powers  which  origi- 
nally were  no  more  remarkable  than  those  of  many  humbler 
men.  They  have  had  an  education  beyond  the  common 
lot  of  their  fellows.  They  represent  in  actuality  what  in 
others  has  remained  only  a  half-developed  germ.  That  is 
why  they  can  speak  for  the  society  as  a  whole.  They  are 
the  society  at  its  best. 

Let  us  take  a  concrete  instance.  There  exists  at  the  pres- 
ent time  a  comparatively  small  body  of  men  who  believe 
that  an  offensive  war  is  never  justifiable.  They  do  not  base 
this  belief  on  any  special  intuition  of  their  own.  They  do 
not  claim  to  possess  an  experience  of  moral  values  which 
none  of  the  rest  of  us  can  ever  know.  On  the  contrary, 
they  attribute  their  peculiar  belief  to  the  fortunate  circum- 
stances of  their  own  upbringing,  that  has  made  them  feel 
what  others  have  not  yet  felt.  And  they  believe  most 
heartily  that  in  the  course  of  time  all  men  of  sound  mind 
will  come  to  feel  as  they  do ;  so  that  their  judgment,  which 
now  to  most  men  seems  so  extreme,  will  be  a  commonplace. 
Now  a  position  like  this  is  worth  considering.  The  pacifi- 
cists may  be  wrong ;  but  at  least  they  have  not  condemned 
themselves  in  advance.  They  are  such  as  the  true  elite 
might  well  be. 

How  are  the  Elite  to  be  Recognized?  —  But  how  are  we, 
from  the  impartial  standpoint  of  the  outsider,  to  determine 
whether  the  pacificists  have  indeed  reached  a  higher  morality 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    343 

or  no?  Answer  plain  and  short:  there  is  no  impartial 
standpoint  except  that  of  ignorance.  I  either  think  with  the 
pacificists  or  against  them,  or  I  know  not  what  to  think.  In 
no  case  is  there  any  absolute  test  by  which  I  can  get  behind 
myself  and  them. 

The  Test  of  Time.  —  There  is,  indeed,  an  ulterior  test ; 
but  it  does  not  lie  within  our  volition  to  apply  it.  It  is  the 
test  of  time.  If  the  pacificists  are  right,  and  it  is  true  that 
they  represent  a  grade  in  advance  in  the  general  evolution 
of  morality,  the  actual  progress  of  that  evolution  itself  may 
be  counted  on  to  confirm  that  judgment.  At  any  rate,  there 
is  no  other  possibility  of  an  impersonal  confirmation. 

Its  Wide  Application.  —  The  test  of  time,  which  we  can- 
not apply,  but  which  is  forever  applying  itself,  is  familiar 
in  all  departments  of  life.  At  that  recent  auction  of  old 
books  was  too  high  a  price  paid  for  the  First  Folio  of  Shake- 
speare ?  Not  if  at  future  auctions  as  high  a  bid  is  reached. 
Is  Browning  or  Tennyson  the  greater  poet  ?  Leave  the  ques- 
tion to  the  year  2000.  Is  the  Emperor  William  a  great 
man?  That  is  for  future  historians  to  say.1  The  test  is 
perhaps  of  rarest  but  most  profound  significance  in  the  sphere 
of  morals.  There  it  is  the  appeal  of  martyrs  of  all  degrees, 
who  look  beyond  the  petty  inflictions  or  the  greater  torments 
which  the  judgment  of  their  own  day  visits  upon  them,  to 

1  In  the  discussion  of  particular  examples  the  student  must  be  careful  to 
make  allowance  for  several  considerations  which  lie  outside  the  scope  of  our 
argument.  (1)  Things  are  constantly  changing  in  value  by  reason  of  changed 
conditions,  without  any  change  in  the  standards  of  value  themselves.  Our 
interest  is  in  the  standards.  (2)  Valuations  of  things  are  constantly  changing 
by  reason  of  improved  knowledge  of  them  and  of  their  effects  —  again  with- 
out change  in  the  standards.  One  reason  why  we  must  postpone  judgment 
on  the  character  of  William  is  that  the  facts  are  not  all  in,  or,  if  in,  are  not 
yet  arranged  and  systematized  and  thus  made  available  for  our  judgment. 
What  we  have  to  note  is  that  even  when  all  this  has  been  accomplished,  his 
place  in  history  will  not  be  definitely  fixed.  The  development  of  the  stand- 
ards themselves  may  still  exalt  or  degrade  him  to  a  degree  which  we  can  at 
present  scarcely  imagine. 


344    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

the  heartfelt  approval  of  the  time  to  come.  For  even  the 
deeply  religious  minds,  that  look  only  to  a  hereafter  where 
God  is  the  supreme  judge,  expect  a  public  vindication.  They 
would  scarcely  be  content  with  the  thought  that  their  fellow- 
saints  should  continue  to  condemn  them  throughout  all 
eternity. 

There  are,  of  course,  values  which  the  future  is  left  no 
part  in  determining.  That  is  because  the  standards  upon 
which  they  are  based  are  themselves  consciously  restricted 
to  the  present.  What  seems  fashionable  now,  is  fashionable. 
Next  year  has  nothing  to  say  about  it.  For  though  a  year 
hence  the  thing  may  no  longer  be  fashionable,  it  will  remain 
true  to  the  end  of  time  that  it  was  fashionable  to-day.  Yet 
even  here  there  are  limiting  cases  where  the  test  of  time  does 
apply.  The  perfection  of  fashion  is  that  which  just  outruns, 
and  hence  can  hope  to  guide,  the  prevailing  mode.  The 
most  distinguished  success,  therefore,  involves  a  certain 
anticipation,  a  certain  risk,  which  a  brief  lapse  of  time  can 
alone  altogether  justify. 

Is  the  Test  Superficial?  —  But  why  should  we  thus  be 
dependent  on  time  for  the  sanction  of  our  judgments?  Why 
should  the  future  know  more  than  we?  On  the  face  of  it 
the  test  of  time  seems  superficial  and  unfair,  to  say  the  least, 
and  in  theory  we  are  sometimes  tempted  to  reject  it;  but 
in  general  practice  we  constantly  fall  back  upon  it  with  the 
utmost  confidence.  Is  our  confidence  justified,  or  is  the 
test  as  superficial  as  it  appears? 

Historical  Continuity  of  Society.  —  The  answer  to  this 
question  depends  upon  the  fact  that  the  society  to  which 
values  are  relative  is  not  a  creature  of  to-day  alone,  but  em- 
braces a  past,  and  looks  forward  to  a  future  which  will  be 
what  the  past  and  the  present  have  made  it.  In  a  word,  it 
has  had,  and  will  have,  a  history.  The  society  of  to-day,  con- 
sidered apart  from  all  this  history,  is  an  abstraction,  a  mere 
temporal  cross  section  of  the  real  society ;  for  the  real  society 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    345 

has  a  temporal  as  well  as  a  spatial  extension.  The  accept- 
ance of  a  value  as  objectively  real  implies  that  it  is  real  for 
the  society  as  a  whole,  comprehending  its  past  and  its  future. 
The  older  generations  may  not  have  been  sufficiently  de- 
veloped to  appreciate  it;  the  future  generations  may  be 
so  much  farther  developed  as  to  have  a  much  richer  and 
fuller  appreciation  than  our  own.  But  the  former  needed 
only  the  further  development  of  the  sentiments  they  pos- 
sessed, not  any  extraneous  addition ;  and  the  latter,  though 
they  may  feel  more  than  we,  will  never  give  our  feelings 
the  lie  —  if  the  value  in  question  is  indeed  real. 

Consider,  for  example,  the  moral  value  of  such  conduct 
as  that  of  Abraham  Lincoln  in  the  reestablishment  of  the 
federal  power  hi  the  South.  The  general  opinion  among 
intelligent  men  throughout  the  world,  then  as  now,  has  been 
that  he  followed  the  only  course  honorably  open  to  him; 
that  it  was  his  paramount  duty  to  maintain  the  Union,  even 
as  he  did.  A  very  different  view,  however,  is  occasionally 
met  with.  It  is  held  that  '  to  maintain  the  Union '  is  a 
misleading  name  for  Lincoln's  policy,  and  that  the  war  was 
essentially  a  war  of  conquest.  The  Confederate  govern- 
ment, it  is  urged,  was  an  accomplished  fact.  All  the  law 
and  order  that  existed  south  of  the  Potomac  was  its  law  and 
order.  Its  legislatures  and  its  courts,  its  administrators 
of  high  and  low  degree,  and  its  armed  forces  were  alone 
there.  What  Lincoln  did  was  to  send  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  soldiers  into  a  peaceful  country,  bringing  with  them  untold 
havoc  and  desolation,  in  order  to  bring  it  into  subjection. 
So,  we  repeat,  a  few  critics  believe  as  against  the  almost  uni- 
versal opinion  to  the  contrary.  Now  it  is  no  part  of  our 
purpose  to  discuss  whether  this  criticism  of  Lincoln's  con- 
duct is  valid.  Our  concern  is  only  to  ask  what  it  would  mean 
for  it  to  be  valid.  And  we  answer  that  if  it  be  valid  it  must 
express  even  now  the  inevitable  outgrowth  of  our  deepest 
convictions,  which  our  past  history  has  securely  implanted 


346    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

in  us ;  and  that,  for  this  reason,  it  is  bound  to  spread  among 
thoughtful  men  and  eventually  to  become  an  established 
judgment. 

Historical  Continuity  and  the  Objectivity  of  Values.  — 
As  we  now  perceive,  the  test  of  time  is  anything  but  super- 
ficial. The  passing  of  this  test  is  an  essential  part  of  what 
the  possession  of  value  means.  As  the  elite  within  a  given 
society  function,  hi  the  pronouncing  of  their  judgments, 
as  representatives  of  the  whole  society,  even  so  the  present 
society,  and  in  particular  its  elite,  functions  in  its  judgments 
as  a  representative  of  the  society's  past  and  future.  It  is 
the  historical  continuity  of  the  development  of  the  sentiments 
that  gives  to  values  the  objective  character  of  reaching  out 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  present,  just  as  it  is  sympathy  that 
gives  to  them  the  objective  character  of  reaching  out  beyond 
the  experience  of  the  particular  individual. 

The  Breach  of  Continuity.  —  What  happens  when  the 
historical  continuity  is  broken?  In  strict  literalness,  of 
course,  this  does  not  occur.  Society,  like  nature,  makes 
no  leaps.  But  just  as  in  the  history  of  the  earth's  fauna 
there  are  periods  of  revolutionary  change,  during  which  the 
old  monarchs  of  the  earth  and  sea  and  air  are  swept  away, 
and  their  places  are  taken  by  the  descendants  of  animals 
which  occupied  a  much  humbler  place  in  the  scale ;  so  there 
are  revolutions  in  human  sentiment,  so  profound  and  so 
far-reaching,  that  the  new  age  exhibits  the  most  striking 
contrast  to  the  old,  exalting  much  that  was  despised  and 
despising  much  that  was  exalted.  And  again,  even  when 
no  single  startling  revolution  has  occurred,  the  slow  course 
of  imperceptible  modifications  may  bring  about  total  changes 
of  the  utmost  magnitude ;  so  that  as  the  later  society  looks 
back  upon  the  earlier  it  finds  many  of  its  ideals  utterly 
foreign.  In  such  a  case  the  older  values  are  viewed  much 
as  are  the  values  that  obtain  in  foreign  societies  of  one's 
own  day.  Their  objective  character  is  lost,  and  they  present 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    347 

themselves  as  mere  reflections  of  the  changing  sentiments 
of  men.  It  becomes  a  distinct  problem  for  the  critic  to  find 
his  way  back  to  the  ancient  modes  of  thought  and  feeling  — 
to  make  himself  an  ancient,  as  it  were  —  in  order  that  he 
may  be  able  to  form  a  just  judgment  of  the  ancient  deeds  and 
works. 

Historical  Position  of  the  Elite.  —  The  distinguishing 
mark  of  the  true  elite  is  that  they  are  closer  than  the  mass 
of  jsociety  to  the  past  and  the  future  of  society.  Because 
they  often  rate  very  low  some  things  which  the  mob  rate 
very  high,  they  are  often  regarded  as  narrow  men.  It  is, 
on  the  contrary,  the  breadth  of  their  sympathies,  the  catho- 
licity of  their  appreciations,  that  makes  them  what  they  are. 
Not  all  change  is  progress,  or  even  decadence.  Much  of  it 
is  aimless  fruitless  fluctuation.  The  petty  changes  of  fashion 
are  of  this  sort  —  little  eddies  upon  the  surface  of  the  great 
current  of  tradition.  The  elite,  in  so  far  as  they  are  properly 
to  perform  their  representative  function,  must  be  too  deep 
for  fashion  to  touch,  moved  only  by  the  larger  trend. 

VII.  ABSOLUTE  VALUES 

Absolute  Values  as  Limits.  —  In  relation  to  the  evolution 
of  human  sentiments,  the  notion  of  a  real,  objective  value  of 
things  takes  on  a  new  significance.  If  sentiments  were  uni- 
form and  changeless,  the  values  which  they  recognize  would 
be  indisputably  real.  When  sentiments  are  found  to  be 
discordant  and  changeful,  real  values  seem  to  exist  only  with 
reference  to  the  particular  phase  of  the  particular  society. 
But  the  conception  of  an  evolution  of  sentiments  provides 
for  real  values  in  the  further  sense  of  the  ideal  limits  toward 
which  the  actual  evaluations  of  things  are  indefinitely  tend- 
ing. Such  limits  may  be  called  absolute  values. 

Have  They  a  Real  Existence?  —  But  is  it  a  fact  that 
there  are  any  definite  limits  toward  which  actual  values 
tend?  Is  there  a  system  of  absolute  values?  We  have  no 


348     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

evidence  that  makes  this  probable.  If  we  try  to  trace  the 
history  of  any  kind  of  value,  we  find  the  continuity  of  the 
development  constantly  broken  into  through  the  influence 
of  new  valuations  of  other  sorts,  and  ultimately  by  new  physi- 
cal conditions.  A  religious  revival  may  inaugurate  a  new 
school  of  comedy,  which  may  profoundly  influence  the 
standards  of  polite  manners.  The  exhaustion  of  a  source 
of  metal  supply  may  cause  a  change  in  economic  conditions, 
which  has  its  effect  on  morality  and  taste.  And  if  we  try 
to  conceive  of  a  development  of  the  whole  system  of  values, 
comprehending  them  all  in  all  their  interrelations,  it  simply 
passes  our  comprehension.  We  do,  indeed,  find  certain 
progressive  differences,  which,  despite  innumerable  excep- 
tions, hold  generally  as  between  savagery  and  civilization. 
But  these  are  far  from  sufficient  to  constitute  a  unitary  de- 
velopment ;  and  if  they  were  sufficient,  we  have  no  reason 
to  suppose  that  the  process  would  have  a  definite  and  final 
limit.  At  the  same  time  we  must  admit  that  if  there  were 
a  unitary  development  of  the  system  of  values,  it  would  be 
upon  so  vast  a  scale  that  we  might  well  be  utterly  unable  to 
detect  it,  much  less  predict  its  course. 

Regulative  Use  of  the  Conception.  —  However,  the  ques- 
tion whether  there  is  an  ultimate  goal  to  the  evolution  of 
values  in  general  or  of  any  particular  kind  of  values  is  not  of 
any  great  significance.  Few,  if  any,  unanswerable  questions 
are  significant.  Our  use  of  the  conception  of  the  goal  or 
limit  is  (as  logicians  say)  regulative.  It  helps  us  to  analyze 
and  comprehend  the  particular  periods  of  evolution  that 
interest  us.  For  to  single  out  any  particular  period  as  a 
distinct  object  of  inquiry  is  to  treat  it  as  if  it  were  somehow 
complete  in  itself;  and  that  means  that  it  must  be  con- 
ceived as  having  a  certain  end  of  its  own.  If  the  evolution 
lies  wholly  in  the  past,  we  pick  out  some  phase  which  seems 
to  us  especially  typical  or  significant,  and  treat  the  whole 
process  as  the  evolution  of  that  phase.  We  write  of  the  evo- 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    349 

lution  of  English  tragedy,  and  close  with  King  Lear;  of  the 
evolution  of  the  French  monarchy,  and  close  with  Louis  XIV ; 
of  the  evolution  of  German  philosophy,  and  close  with  Hegel 
and  Schopenhauer.  The  commonest  terminus  is  of  course 
the  present  state  of  things.  The  evolution  of  the  orchestra 
is  the  evolution  of  the  orchestra  of  Richard  Strauss  and 
Debussy.  The  evolution  of  American  politics  is  the  evolu- 
tion of  the  politics  of  Bryan  and  Roosevelt,  Murphy  and 
Barnes.  But  often  the  development  presents  itself  to  us  in 
the  light  of  a  story  whose  plot  is  not  yet  worked  out ;  and 
we  figure  to  ourselves  as  well  as  we  can  what  the  outcome  of 
the  story  is  bound  to  be.  In  such  a  case  the  anticipated 
outcome  is  thought  of  as  rounding  off  the  evolutionary  pro- 
cess, just  as  in  other  cases  the  present  or  past  outcome  is 
thought  of.  It  would  ill  suit  the  ends  of  our  imperfect  think- 
ing to  be  always  endeavoring  to  think  of  the  processes  of 
evolution  as  infinite  in  scope  and  duration.  We  are  bound 
to  take  it  in  periods,  and  to  regard  each  period  in  turn  as  if  its 
conclusion  were  indeed  a  logical  stopping  place. 

Now  as  applied  to  the  evolution  of  values  this  means  that 
it  is  often  necessary  for  us  to  think  of  values  as  if  they  were 
absolute.  They  are,  so  to  speak,  absolute  for  its,  bounding 
our  field  of  vision  as  effectually  as  if  there  were  indeed  nothing 
beyond.  We  believe,  for  example,  that  under  civilized  con- 
ditions slavery  is  morally  wrong.  We  are  perfectly  ready 
to  trace  the  evolutionary  movement  by  which  this  convic- 
tion arose  in  ourselves  and  in  others  like  us,  until  it  became 
practically  universal.  But  here,  so  far  as  our  present  out- 
look is  concerned,  the  evolution  ceases.  It  has  come  to  a 
full  stop.  The  evilness  of  slavery  is  absolute  matter-of-fact, 
as  plain  and  clear  as  2+2=4.  We  say,  perhaps,  make  a 
lip  confession  of  the  fallibility  and  mutability  of  human 
judgments,  but  this  does  not  imply  the  least  skepticism  as 
to  the  ultimate  truth  of  our  own  creed. 


350     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

VIII.   HISTORICAL  CONTINUITY 

Let  us  now  observe  more  closely  the  nature  of  that  his- 
torical continuity  upon  which,  as  we  have  said,  rests  in  part 
the  kind  of  objectivity  which  values  in  general  possess. 

Its  General  Meaning.  —  When  anything  of  an  organic 
nature  is  subjected  to  influences  that  tend  to  modify  it,  it 
does  not  yield  to  those  influences  with  equal  readiness  in  all 
its  parts  and  functions.  It  yields  first  in  its  more  super- 
ficial features ;  that  is  to  say,  generally  speaking,  in  its  more 
recently  acquired  features,  that  have  not  yet  been  intri- 
cately interwoven  with  others,  and  upon  which  still  later 
developments  have  not  yet  been  based.  It  yields  where  it 
can  yield  with  the  least  disturbance  of  its  constitution  as  a 
whole.  The  modification  follows,  as  we  say,  the  '  path  of 
least  resistance.'  Only  when  a  superficial  change  does  not 
suffice  to  restore  a  stable  equilibrium  does  the  change  strike 
deeper  and  deeper;  and  only  the  most  extraordinary  and 
persistent  exigencies  can  disturb  its  most  ancient  and  funda- 
mental traits.  This  is  what  is  meant  by  '  continuity/ 

Illustrations.  —  It  would  lead  us  too  far  afield  to  attempt 
to  illustrate  this  conception  in  all  the  various  fields  in  which 
it  is  applicable.  Let  a  few  examples  suffice :  (1)  Some  sen- 
timentalists have  suggested  that  the  course  of  evolution 
might  perhaps  some  time  do  away  with  the  distinction  of 
sex.  According  to  the  principle  of  continuity,  no  change 
could  well  be  more  improbable.  The  distinction  of  sex  has 
existed  from  the  very  origin  of  the  many-called  forms  of 
animal  life.  Anything  will  go  sooner  than  that.  (2)  Simi- 
larly, in  social  evolution,  the  abolition  of  private  property 
is  almost  inconceivable.  But  private  property  in  land  is 
comparatively  recent,  and  under  long  and  severe  stress  might 
go.  Franchises  for  the  operation  of  various  public  utilities 
are  still  more  recent,  and  might  easily  go.  (3)  The  history 
of  science  exhibits  a  similar  continuity.  When  a  strange 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    351 

phenomenon  is  observed,  which  contradicts  our  preconcep- 
tions, we  make  room  for  it  most  grudgingly,  giving  up  as  little 
of  our  old  ideas  as  possible.  An  investigator  exhibits  test 
tubes  containing  low  forms  of  animal  life,  and  declares  that 
the  test  tubes  were  carefully  sterilized  after  being  hermeti- 
cally sealed.  Ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  of  us  declare 
that  the  sealing  must  have  been  faulty,  or  the  sterilization 
insufficient.  It  is  easier  for  us  —  it  requires  a  less  profound 
unsettling  of  our  conceptions  —  to  suppose  that  the  investi- 
gator is  incompetent,  than  to  admit  that  fresh  living  matter 
can  originate  in  a  test  tube.  Sometimes,  to  be  sure,  the 
readjustment  of  ideas  has  to  go  pretty  deep ;  as  when  the 
conception  of  permanent  species  of  organisms  was  given  up ; 
or  as  when  the  phenomena  of  radioactivity  compelled  the 
admission  that  the  chemical  atom  is  not  absolutely  unde- 
composable.  But  in  such  a  case  the  evidences  must  be  over- 
whelming, and  they  are  subjected  to  the  most  critical  tests ; 
and,  if  these  tests  are  passed,  all  manner  of  compromises 
are  tried  before  the  radical  explanation  is  accepted  as  nec- 
essary. 

Continuity  in  Changes  of  Valuation.  —  Now  this  same 
continuity  obtains  in  the  realm  of  values.  In  the  standards 
of  good  manners,  only  a  little  change  would  be  necessary  to 
make  it  proper  to  drink  soup  from  the  tip  of  the  spoon,  or 
to  keep  one's  hat  on  in  an  elevator ;  for  not  much  else  would 
be  affected.  Such  changes  take  place  constantly.  But  to 
make  it  proper  for  women  to  smoke  in  public,  much  more 
is  required.  Smoking  has  long  been  taboo  to  the  sex.  A 
host  of  associations  and  prejudices  have  clustered  about  it, 
that  tend  to  keep  it  so.  If  women  are  to  smoke  in  public  it 
must  involve  a  widespread  movement  among  women  to 
break  the  bonds  of  their  ancient  taboos.  This  movement 
must  itself  be  in  the  first  instance  unfashionable.  Smoking 
might  then  be  symbolic  —  like  the  red  necktie  of  the  social- 
ist. By  the  time  it  was  good  form  for  women  to  smoke  on 


352     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

the  streets,  our  most  deep-seated  notions  of  seemly  relations 
between  the  sexes  might  well  be  changed.  Men  might  no 
longer  be  doffing  their  hats  or  resigning  their  seats  or  assum- 
ing petty  burdens. 

Application  to  Moral  Values.  —  We  need  not  delay  longer 
with  preliminary  examples.  We  know  that  the  principle  is 
universal  in  its  application ;  and  we  have  already  considered 
its  significance  for  the  general  theory  of  values.  What  we 
have  now  to  consider  is  its  special  significance  in  relation  to 
moral  values,  by  reason  of  the  fundamental  and  compre- 
hensive character  which  these  values  possess. 

In  the  last  two  chapters  we  dwelt  at  some  length  upon  the 
function  of  the  moral  habits  in  unifying  character  and  in 
facilitating  social  intercourse.  In  view  of  the  facts  there 
laid  down,  we  can  see  that  an  alteration  of  moral  values  can 
hardly  occur  without  far-reaching  effects.  The  organizing 
force  being  shifted,  the  organized  material  must  needs 
undergo  a  notable  rearrangement. 

The  Standard  of  Veracity.  —  What  would  be  the  effect  if 
we  were  no  longer  to  hold  it  wrong  to  tell  a  lie  to  a  stranger  ? 
We  are  not  without  grounds  upon  which  to  base  a  reply. 
There  are  peoples  among  whom  a  lie  to  a  stranger  is  con- 
sidered quite  innocent.  These  peoples  do  not  stand  high 
in  the  scale  of  civilization.  They  are  incapable  of  any 
complex  form  of  social  organization.  Their  industrial  and 
commercial  policy  is  of  the  crudest.  Their  religion  is  limited 
to  local  and  family  cults.  Scientific  procedure  is  unknown 
to  them.  It  is  not  hard  for  us  to  see  why  this  must  be  the 
case.  If  the  stranger,  as  such,  is  to  be  deceived  at  will,  so 
also  he  is  not  to  be  trusted.  No  alliance  with  him  can  be 
more  than  temporary,  and  all  the  maxims  of  tribal  craft  must 
turn  on  the  expectation  of  treachery ;  credit  is  so  narrowly 
restricted  that  the  standards  of  good  business,  as  we  con- 
ceive it,  are  incomprehensible;  the  stranger's  god  is  sus- 
pected and  feared  as  the  stranger  is.  How  impossible 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    353 

science  must  be  without  the  sentiment  of  universal  veracity 
we  can  see  from  the  importance  with  which  the  duty  is  in- 
vested by  scientific  men  to-day.  Many  of  them  hold  it  in 
a  religious,  not  to  say  superstitious,  reverence. 

If,  now,  we  look  at  the  reverse  process  —  the  process  by 
which  actually  our  ideal  of  veracity  has  arisen,  we  see  at 
once  that  it  must  have  been  impossible  except  as  an  essential 
part  of  the  whole  development  of  civilized  society.  There 
are,  to  be  sure,  many  uncivilized  peoples  who  regard  a  lie 
as  intrinsically  shameful.  But,  indeed,  these  are  almost  as 
far  from  the  conception  of  the  civilized  '  man  of  honor  '  or 
merchant  or  scientific  investigator,  as  the  peoples  who  re- 
gard the  lie  as  innocent,  especially  if  told  to  a  stranger. 
For  observe  how  different  these  civilized  men  are  from  each 
other.  The  man  of  honor  will  die  rather  than  be  guilty  of  a 
falsehood  for  his  own  benefit ;  but  he  will  lie  without  scruple 
in  order  to  protect  the  honor  of  a  friend.  The  merchant's 
word  is  for  him  the  entering  into  of  a  contract.  For  him  the 
highest  praise  is  that  '  his  word  is  as  good  as  his  bond/  If 
he  was  honestly  mistaken  in  his  statement,  that  does  not 
release  him  from  it ;  he  must  make  his  word  good.  More- 
over, he  feels  a  certain  obligation,  if  not  to  tell  the  whole 
truth,  at  least  not  to  endeavor  to  conceal  any  part  of  it.  The 
man  of  science  cannot  make  his  word  good  if  it  was  not  good. 
He  is  bound  not  only  to  absolute  veracity,  but  to  the  utmost 
care  in  making  his  observations  and  in  verifying  the  reports 
of  others.  He  must  set  down  with  the  same  fidelity  the 
fact  that  contradicts  as  the  fact  that  confirms  his  theory. 
In  the  presence  of  the  truth,  friendship  counts  for  nothing. 
And  he  is  bound,  so  to  speak,  to  advertise  the  faults  of  his 
goods. 

Continuity  of  Moral  Evolution.  —  Now,  we  say,  the  de- 
velopment of  such  standards  as  these  cannot  be  a  thing 
apart.  The  development  of  the  integrity  of  the  cavalier's, 
the  merchant's,  the  scientist's  integrity  is  inseparable  from 

2A 


354     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

the  development  of  chivalry,  of  commerce,  and  of  science. 
And  for  that  reason,  we  repeat,  the  process  must  be  slow; 
and,  what  is  more,  it  must  be  gradual.  Our  moral  senti- 
ments, upon  which  the  unity  of  individual  and  social  life 
depends,  cannot  vary  without  manifold  and  extensive  con- 
sequences; and  hence  in  them  the  continuity  of  history  is 
exhibited  in  an  especial  degree. 

This  is  the  form  which  the  dogma  of  '  eternal  and  immu- 
table morality  '  takes  for  us  to-day.  For  the  men  who  framed 
that  dogma  there  was  no  alternative  between  absolute  fixed- 
ness and  unrestricted  change.  The  only  universality  of 
which  they  could  conceive  was  an  abstract  identity  of  type. 
We  have  learned  of  another  sort  of  universality,  which  ad- 
mits of  degrees,  and  into  which  change  enters  as  a  factor. 
And  this  sort  of  universality  we  recognize  as  belonging  to 
moral  values  as  to  no  others  within  the  compass  of  our 
knowledge. 

IX.   INDIVIDUAL  DIFFERENCES 

They  must  be  Admitted.  —  And  now  let  us  return  to  the 
individual  differences  which  we  have  so  long  neglected. 
That  there  are  marked  individual  differences  in  men's  valu- 
ations of  things  is  as  evident  as  the  fact  that  men  differ  in 
character;  or  rather  these  are  but  two  aspects  of  the  same 
fact.  Grant  that  sentiments  are,  in  the  main,  social  func- 
tions, —  just  as  concepts  are,  in  the  main,  social  functions, 
—  it  remains  true  that  sentiments,  like  concepts,  vary  al- 
most without  assignable  limit,  from  man  to  man,  within  the 
given  society. 

Their  Character.  —  But  let  us  not  exaggerate.  The  in- 
dividual is  not  capable  of  developing  by  himself  any  type  of 
valuation  that  is  radically  different  from  that  which  obtains 
among  his  associates.  The  differences  which  he  exhibits 
are  for  the  most  part  not  strictly  personal,  but  belong  to 
the  narrower  social  circles  in  which  he  has  grown  up  —  as 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    355 

we  remarked  a  while  ago  in  speaking  of  the  lover  of 
Wagner  and  the  lover  of  Meyerbeer.  The  strictly  personal 
differences  are:  (1)  differences  in  elementary  (congenital) 
susceptibility  to  pleasant  and  unpleasant  excitation;  (2) 
exaggerations  and  minimizations  of  accepted  values,  due  to 
such  differences  in  elementary  susceptibility ;  (3)  arrested 
development  in  one  or  another  direction,  due  to  a  more 
thorough  lack  of  feeling;  and  in  some  few  directions, 
perhaps,  (4)  a  further  development  of  the  customary  valua- 
tions—  though  it  is  only  a  very  little  way  that  even  the 
greatest  genius  can  go  by  himself,  without  sympathy  from 
some  source.  All  told,  the  individual  differences  that  we  find 
are  such  as  may  be  described  as  divergences  from  a  type.  The 
most  striking  peculiarities  are  the  cases  of  arrested  develop- 
ment. 

Are  Values  for  the  Individual  Real  Values?— Well,  then, 
such  as  they  are,  what  are  we  to  say  of  the  individual  dif- 
ferences? Are  things,  or  are  they  not,  really  good,  when 
some  man  finds  them  good ;  and  are  they,  or  are  they  not, 
just  as  good  as  he  finds  them?  Grant  that  other  men  judge 
differently,  is  not  his  valuation  as  much  of  a  standard  as 
any  one's  else,  or  as  all  men's  else,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned  ? 
And  if  a  thing  pleases  him,  does  it  not  just  as  truly  please 
him  though  all  the  rest  of  the  world  are  pained  by  it  ?  And 
if  it  displeases  him,  what  does  it  matter  if  everybody  else 
is  charmed  by  it? 

In  questions  like  these  there  are  generally  implied  two 
misconceptions  which  must  be  removed  before  a  fair  direct 
answer  can  be  given. . 

In  the  first  place,  the  last  two  sentences  are  probably  guilty 
of  the  common  hedonistic  confusion  between  pleasantness 
(and  unpleasantness)  and  value.  It  is  not  the  isolated  feel- 
ings as  such,  but  organized  sentiments,  that  are  the  basis 
of  value.  The  fact  that  a  thing  pleases  a  man  generally 
causes  him  to  regard  it  as  valuable ;  but  it  may  not.  For 


356     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

example,  he  may  be  amused  by  a  trashy  novel,  and  still 
regard  it  as  trash.  Of  course,  if  the  same  sort  of  novel  were 
a  frequent  resource  of  his  leisure  hours,  he  would  soon  come 
to  ascribe  a  certain  value  to  it.  Value  must  always  have 
some  degree  of  permanence,  and  a  passing  pleasure  does  not 
necessarily  indicate  it. 

In  the  second  place,  the  questioner  wholly  forgets  the 
systematic  nature  of  sentiments,  and  hence  of  values.  A 
sentiment,  no  matter  how  strong,  can  hardly  be  said  to  be 
correct,  unless  it  harmonizes  with  the  general  system  of  the 
man's  sentiments.  For  otherwise  it  must  lead  him  into 
contradictory  judgments.  But  with  respect  to  the  system- 
atic connections  between  the  feelings  (as  distinguished  from 
the  original  elementary  susceptibilities  to  feeling)  the  in- 
dividual is  almost  entirely  dependent  upon  social  influences. 
Generally  speaking,  the  external  harmony  of  a  man  with  his 
fellows  and  the  internal  harmony  of  his  own  sentiments 
coincide.  Sentiments  that  are  without  public  support  are 
very  likely  to  be  without  a  very  broad  foundation  in  the 
individual's  character. 

The  Question  Restated.  —  All  this,  however,  is  simply 
narrowing  the  exceptions,  not  denying  them.  What  of 
the  cases  where  a  man's  character  does  show  an  independent, 
and  yet  internally  consistent,  development?  And  what  of 
the  more  numerous  instances  where  the  divergence  from  the 
type  is  (as  we  have  phrased  it)  one  of  simple  exaggeration  or 
minimization?  Are  the  values  thus  recognized  real  or  not? 
We  are  accustomed  to  say  that  they  are  real  for  the  man  him- 
self; but  that  means  only  that  his  experience  repeatedly 
confirms  the  judgment  of  their  reality,  and  contains  nothing 
that  contradicts  it.  For  us,  we  say,  they  are  not  real ;  which 
means  that  our  experience  does  belie  their  reality  —  that 
if  we  try  to  get  any  satisfaction  out  of  such  things,  we  are 
disappointed.  Are  values,  which  in  the  above  sense  are  real 
for  one  man  and  not  for  others,  real  or  not? 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    357 

Let  it  be  constantly  borne  in  mind  that  the  question  is 
not  whether  the  man's  sentiments  are  real.  It  is  supposed 
that  they  are.  But  no  one  regards  one  of  his  sentiments 
as  being  identical  with  the  value  which  he  sets  upon  a  thing, 
any  more  than  he  regards  his  concept  of  the  thing  as  being 
identical  with  the  thing.  The  question  relates  solely  to 
values. 

The  Negative  Answer  Formally  Required.  —  If,  now,  we 
are  to  use  language  with  formal  accuracy,  we  must  answer 
shortly  and  plainly  in  the  negative.  Real  values,  like  other 
realities,  must  not  only  be  characterized  by  coherence  with 
the  experience  of  the  individual,  but  they  must  be  generally 
verifiable.  As  a  rule  (we  have  seen)  these  two  characteristics 
go  together,  so  that  the  former  alone  may  be  taken  as  a 
sufficient  indication  of  reality ;  but  where  they  are  separated 
we  are  logically  bound  to  say  that  the  reality  is  destroyed. 
As  we  urged  in  another  connection,  when  a  man  asserts  that 
San  Francisco  Bay  has  a  certain  aesthetic  value,  he  is  not 
referring  merely,  or  necessarily,  to  experiences  of  his  own. 
He  is  alleging  an  objective  fact,  that  reaches  out  beyond 
himself,  and  would  remain  if  his  whole  consciousness  of  the 
matter  ceased  to  be,  or,  indeed,  had  never  been. 

Its  Futility.  —  But  we  must  beware  of  trying  to  give  a 
greater  accuracy  to  our  language  than  our  thoughts  possess. 
We  should  remember  that  '  external '  and  '  internal  har- 
mony/ the  '  systematization  of  the  sentiments/  etc.,  stand 
only  for  matters  of  degree.  No  man  has  a  thoroughly  uni- 
fied character,  and  no  man  is  thoroughly  at  one  with  his 
social  environment.  Consequently,  if  we  wished  to  hold 
ourselves  to  perfect  accuracy  we  should  have  to  say  that  no 
values,  at  least  as  we  experience  them,  are  real.  But  this  is 
futile  —  as  futile  as  the  contention  that  all  of  our  concepts 
are  imperfect,  and  that  we  know  nothing  as  it  truly  is. 
Science  is  human  and  it  makes  no  pretences  to  perfection. 
The  differences  in  our  valuations  of  things  exhibit  an  endless 


358     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

gradation.  Everything  is  a  departure  from  type ;  and  when 
we  try  to  fix  it  rigidly,  the  type  —  that  is  to  say,  the  reality 
—  eludes  us  and  vanishes  into  the  unknown. 

If,  therefore,  we  say  that  values  that  exist  only  for  the 
individual  are  unreal,  we  must  say  it  with  the  reservation 
that  all  our  valuations  are  to  an  undetermined  extent  marked 
with  individuality.  We  must  not  be  understood  as  if  we 
were  contrasting  these  unreal  values  with  others  that  were 
entirely  impersonal. 

X.  VALUES  PECULIAR  TO  MINOR  SOCIAL  GROUPS 
Their  Impermanence.  —  There  is  another  question  of 
similar  import,  which  must  be  disposed  of  in  an  analogous 
fashion.  When  a  value  recognized  by  a  smaller  social  group 
is  at  no  time  recognized  by  the  larger  group  of  which  it  is  a 
part,  is  the  value  real?  On  the  whole  we  must  answer  no. 
The  fact  that  the  larger  society  gives  the  valuation  no  sup- 
port, but,  on  the  contrary,  with  every  contact  tends  to 
weaken  it,  means  that  it  is  doomed  to  an  early  disappearance. 
The  tastes  and  ideals  of  cliques  and  coteries,  when  they  fail 
to  reach  the  great  public,  are  without  permanence.  The 
test  of  time  cpndemns  them. 

Most  of  the  apparent  exceptions  are  only  apparent. 
When,  as  happens,  for  example,  in  aristocratic  or  priestly 
circles,  a  set  of  valuations  persists  and  develops  through  the 
centuries,  despite  the  prevalence  of  a  different  set  outside, 
this  does  not  indicate  an  entire  lack  of  sympathy  from  the 
outside.  Though  the  populace  keep  their  own  standards 
for  themselves,  they  think  it  well  enough  that  nobles  should 
be  nobles  and  priests  be  priests ;  and  they  would  be  scandal- 
ized to  see  a  member  of  the  privileged  classes  doing  what 
they  themselves  do  without  scruple.  And  in  the  few  re- 
maining cases,  where  an  entire  lack  of  sympathy  exists,  we 
can  generally  say  that  the  smaller  society  is  not  really  a  part 
of  the  larger,  but  a  parasite  upon  it. 


THE  SOCIAL  CHARACTER  OF  SENTIMENTS    359 

The  Logical  Extreme  is  Futile.  —  But  here  again  we  must 
not  think  ourselves  bound  (or  entitled)  to  an  absolute  ac- 
curacy in  our  distinctions.  The  spatial  boundaries,  the 
temporal  origins  and  dissolutions  of  societies,  are  seldom  pre- 
cisely marked.  If  we  push  our  principle  to  the  uttermost, 
we  can  scarcely  stop  short  of  the  assertion  that  no  value 
that  is  not  destined  to  universal  and  permanent  acceptance 
is  real.  But  this  too  is  futile;  for  science  knows  nothing 
of  eternal  destinies. 


REFERENCES 

STEPHEN,  L.,  Science  of  Ethics,  Ch.  III. 

BALDWIN,  J.,  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations  of  Mental  Develop- 
ment. 

COOLEY,  C.  H.,  Human  Nature  and  the  Social  Order. 

Ross,  E.,  Social  Control,  Part  II,  especially  Chs.  XIII-XV,  XXIV, 
XXVII. 

McDouGALL,  W.,  Social  Psychology,  Ch.  VI. 

WESTERMARCK,  E.,  Origin  and  Development  of  the  Moral  Ideas,  Ch.  V. 

BOSANQUET,  B.,  Philosophical  Theory  of  the  State,  Ch.  XI. 

ROYCE,  J.,  Outlines  of  Psychology,  Ch.  XII. 

READ,  C.,  Natural  and  Social  Morals,  Book  I,  Ch.  III. 

MEZES,  S.,  Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  Chs.  VII,  VIII. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  DARWINISM 
I.   EVOLUTION  IN  GENERAL 

Relation  of  Ethics  to  Organic  Evolution.  —  Ethics,  in 
common  with  all  the  other  sciences  of  life  and  mind,  was 
profoundly  affected  by  the  publication,  in  1859,  of  Darwin's 
great  work  on  the  Origin  of  Species.  For  a  time  it  seemed 
as  if  the  whole  science  must  be  recast  in  the  light  of  the  prin- 
ciples which  he  there  laid  down.  We  know  now  that  this 
expectation  was  groundless  —  that  the  theory  of  organic 
evolution  has  no  direct  bearing  upon  the  problems  of  ethics. 
This  very  truth,  however,  is  itself  of  no  small  importance ; 
and  we  shall  feel  warranted  in  turning  aside  from  the  direct 
prosecution  of  our  theme  in  order  to  make  this  truth  clear. 

Definition  of  Evolution.  —  Evolution  is  gradual  increase 
in  complexity.  —  By  '  complexity  '  we  mean  :  to  consist 
of  many  parts,  which  (1)  are  of  unlike  nature  or  activity, 
but  which  (2)  are  closely  dependent  upon  one  another  for 
their  continued  existence  or  activity.  Evolution,  as  an 
increase  in  complexity,  thus  includes  :  (1)  an  increased  vari- 
ety in  the  parts,  and  (2)  their  more  intimate  mutual  depend- 
ence. These  two  aspects  of  evolution  are  called  '  differen- 
tiation '  and  '  integration/  respectively. 

Complexity.  —  Examples  of  complexity  are  so  numerous 
that  it  is  difficult  to  choose  among  them ;  but  perhaps  the 
carpenter's  kit  of  tools  affords  as  instructive  an  example 
as  any.  The  kit  consists  of  scores  of  tools,  which  differ 
among  themselves  enormously,  and  almost  any  one  of  which 
would  be  useless  without  the  others  —  or  so  nearly  useless 

360 


THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  DARWINISM  361 

that  there  would  be  no  sense  in  manufacturing  it.  The 
plane,  for  example,  is  an  admirable  thing ;  but  it  has  to  have 
its  surface  prepared  for  it  by  some  other  tool.  One  would 
never  accomplish  anything  if  one  started  to  plane  a  rough 
block  of  wood.  Each  too  has  its  own  function,  and  is  ill- 
adapted  to  replace  any  of  the  others.  Now  consider,  by 
way  of  contrast,  the  kris  of  the  Filipino  peasant.  Aside 
from  its  use  as  a  weapon,  he  can  cut  down  trees  with  it,  trim 
off  the  branches,  shape  timbers,  build  himself  a  house  and 
fill  it  with  furniture,  without  employing  any  other  tool.  It 
cuts  with  impact,  like  an  ax,  and  with  pressure,  like  a  knife 
or  a  plane.  The  owner  can  turn  it  over  and  drive  in  a  nail 
or  a  peg  with  the  back  of  it  —  a  peg  which  he  has  perhaps 
whittled  out  with  the  kris  itself.  The  kris  is  independently 
useful,  as  the  several  contents  of  the  carpenter's  tool  chest 
mostly  are  not.  The  kit  of  tools  is  a  single  complex  thing. 
A  chestful  of  krisses  would  not  be  a  complex  thing  at  all. 
It  would  be  a  mere  collection. 

There  is  the  same  difference  between  the  Filipino  village 
and  a  more  highly  civilized  community.  In  the  Filipino 
village  every  man  is  a  farmer,  a  carpenter,  a  smith,  a  cook. 
When  he  needs  a  rope  he  makes  it  on  the  spot.  He  cuts  his 
brother's  hair,  and  his  brother  cuts  his.  He  has  not  lost 
the  barbaric  art  of  making  a  fire  by  rubbing  two  pieces  of 
wood  together.  Separate  him  from  his  fellows  —  set  him, 
like  Robinson  Crusoe,  alone  upon  an  uninhabited  island  — 
and  he  would  get  along  beautifully.  But  do  the  same  with 
the  average  New  Yorker  or  Philadelphian,  and  the  man  would 
perish  miserably.  Our  communities  are  exceedingly  com- 
plex, consisting  of  men  of  widely  different  training  and 
abilities,  who  supplement  one  another  admirably,  but  who 
cannot  live  without  one  another.  By  contrast,  the  Filipino 
village  might  be  said  to  be  a  mere  collection;  though,  in- 
deed, this  would  be  an  exaggeration.  For  though  every 
man  is,  say,  a  carpenter,  there  are  in  each  village  one  or  two 


362     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

men  who  are  known  as  having  special  skill  as  carpenters,  and 
who  are  likely  to  be  called  in  to  do  difficult  work  in  that  line 
—  when  they  happen  not  to  be  busy  in  their  own  fields. 

Universal  Evolution.  —  Now  historians  are  well  aware 
that  American  and  European  society  has  gradually  arisen 
out  of  a  condition  analogous  to  that  of  the  Filipino  village ; 
and  that  the  carpenter's  tool  kit  is  in  like  manner  descended 
from  a  very  few  tools  that  were  analogous  to  the  kris.  They 
are  products  of  evolution.  And  we  have  come  more  and 
more  to  suspect  that  all  the  complexity  that  is  anywhere 
observable  in  the  world  has  come  into  existence  by  evolution. 
The  system  of  chemical  elements,  the  solar  system,  the 
surface  of  the  earth,  the  vegetable  and  animal  kingdoms, 
societies  and  their  customs  and  institutions,  production, 
transportation,  exchange,  religion,  science,  art,  morality  — 
all  these  now  exhibit  a  high  degree  of  complexity,  which  we 
believe  they  did  not  always  possess  and  did  not  suddenly 
acquire.  The  most  conspicuous  example  of  evolution  is,  of 
course,  the  development  of  the  individual  plant  or  animal 
from  the  single  cell  in  which  it  invariably  has  its  beginning. 

Theories  of  Evolution.  —  A  theory  of  evolution  is  either 
descriptive  or  explanatory.  A  descriptive  theory  sets  forth 
in  a  generalized  form  the  various  phases  of  the  process,  as 
it  is  observed  to  take  place.  An  explanatory  theory  at- 
tempts to  point  out  the  conditions  under  which  evolution 
occurs,  the  various  causes,  or  factors,  which  contribute  to 
the  result,  and  the  manner  in  which  they  affect  each  other. 
Some  theories  of  evolution  have  been  devised  to  apply  to 
all  evolution,  wherever  it  may  occur.  The  most  important 
recent  instance  of  a  universal  explanatory  theory  is  that  of 
Herbert  Spencer  (First  Principles,  1861),  who  tried  to  show 
that  evolution  is  an  inevitable  consequence  of  the  conserva- 
tion of  energy.  It  is  an  exceedingly  ingenious  and  impres- 
sive theory ;  but  the  advance  of  physical  science  has  already 
made  it  somewhat  antiquated;  and  (a  far  more  serious 


THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  DARWINISM  363 

matter)  it  was  never  of  the  least  service  in  explaining  organic 
and  social  evolution. 

Other  theories  of  evolution  apply  only  to  particular  fields : 
government,  say,  or  language  or  religion.  In  many  impor- 
tant fields  we  have  only  the  beginnings  of  an  explanatory 
theory.  This  is  notoriously  the  case  with  respect  to  indi- 
vidual development.  It  is  also  the  case  with  language  and 
art. 

Scope  of  the  Darwinian  Theory.  —  Darwin's  theory  of 
evolution  is  an  explanatory  theory,  applying  only  to  plant  and 
animal  species  —  their  structure,  functions,  and  general 
behavior.  It  is  an  attempt  to  explain  how  all  these  species, 
complex  as  many  of  them  now  are,  may  have  originated 
from  one,  or  a  very  few,  single-celled  forms,  as  many  lines 
of  evidence  have  convinced  us  they  have  in  fact  originated.1 
It  does  not  pretend  to  apply  to  individual  development, 
whether  physical  or  mental ;  and  it  applies  only  indirectly,  if 
at  all,  to  the  various  phases  of  social  evolution. 

II.  DARWINISM 

Artificial  Selection.  —  The  Darwinian  theory  was  sug- 
gested by  the  experience  of  breeders  in  producing  new  vari- 
eties of  pigeons,  rabbits,  sheep,  cattle,  and  other  animals, 
by  a  process  of  selection.  If  a  sheep  owner  wishes  to  produce 
sheep  of  a  certain  sort,  which  he  has  in  mind,  he  picks  out 
for  breeding  those  that  come  nearest  to  his  wish ;  and  again 
from  their  offspring  picks  out  those  that  come  nearest; 
and  so  on.  In  this  way,  in  a  very  few  years,  surprising 
changes  in  size  and  shape  and  in  the  yield  and  quality  of 
wool  can  be  brought  about  —  all  as  the  effect  of  the  constant 
preference  of  the  breeder  for  sheep  that  possess  certain  traits. 

Natural  Selection.  —  Darwin  observed  that  a  very  similar 
thing  happens  when  no  human  contriver  is  at  work.  As  we 

1  By  far  the  best  popular  account  of  this  evidence  is  that  given  in  the  first 
part  of  Joseph  Le  Conte's  Evolution. 


364     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

all  know,  every  species  of  plants  or  animals  produces  far  more 
new  individuals  than  can  possibly  reach  maturity  and  them- 
selves leave  offspring.  This  fact  is  called  the  '  struggle  for 
existence/  Even  the  slow-breeding  elephants,  if  not  thinned 
out  by  premature  death,  would  in  a  few  centuries  encumber 
the  earth.  And  many  species  produce  thousands  of  young 
for  one  that  reaches  maturity.  What  determines  which 
that  one  shall  be  ?  Accident,  largely.  But  also,  it  may  be, 
the  peculiar  size  or  strength  or  some  other  characteristic 
of  the  individuals.  In  the  long  run,  those  survive  that  are 
fittest  to  survive.  Now  it  seems  to  be  the  case  that  every  new 
individual  is,  from  the  very  beginning  of  its  development, 
different  in  many  ways  from  the  parent  organisms,  though 
the  differences  are  generally  very  slight ;  and  it  also  seems 
that  these  so-called  '  congenital  variations  '  are  themselves 
inheritable.  Sometimes  a  variation  is  such  as  to  give  the 
plant  or  animal  a  greater  chance  of  reaching  maturity  and 
perpetuating  itself.  The  variation  is  then  said  to  have 
survival  value.  In  any  particular  case  this  survival  value 
may  count  for  nothing;  an  untoward  accident  may  stamp 
it  out.  No  doubt  many  favorable  variations  are  thus  lost. 
But  the  same  cause  (whatever  it  may  have  been)  that  pro- 
duced the  favorable  variation  in  one  individual  has  very 
likely  produced  a  similar  variation  in  many  others.  Now 
when  great  numbers  are  considered,  the  effect  of  accident 
tends  to  be  eliminated.  A  greater  proportion  of  the  in- 
dividuals that  exhibit  the  favorable  variation  are  apt  to 
survive,  than  is  the  case  with  the  species  generally ;  and  they 
transmit  to  their  offspring  the  same  advantage.  Hence, 
in  the  course  of  time,  the  variation  is  likely  to  spread  itself 
throughout  the  whole  region ;  and,  what  is  more,  any  further 
variation  in  the  same  direction,  that  may  occur,  will  add 
itself  in  cumulative  fashion  to  the  original  variation.  Thus  a 
continued  advantage  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  enjoyed  by 
those  individuals  who  vary  from  their  fellows  in  a  certain 


THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  DARWINISM  365 

direction,  has  an  effect  like  that  of  the  persistent  preference 
of  the  breeder.  These  individuals  are,  as  it  were,  selected 
by  nature  for  the  purpose  of  breeding.  Hence  the  phrase 
'  natural  selection/ 

Environmental  Changes.  —  If  external  conditions  re- 
mained the  same,  it  is  conceivable  that  the  modification  of 
species  by  natural  selection  might  come  to  a  stop  in  a  con- 
dition of  universal  equilibrium.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
'environmental  conditions  are  constantly  changing,  both  by 
reason  of  the  slow  transformation  of  the  earth's  surface,  of 
which  geology  treats,  and  by  reason  of  the  migrations  of 
species.  Thus  the  coming  of  the  lion  into  South  Africa 
or  of  the  white  man  into  America  brought  about  a  tremen- 
dous change  in  the  environment  of  many  plants  and  animals. 
But  a  change  in  the  environment  means  generally  a  disturb- 
ance of  adaptation.  It  means  that  there  is  further  room, 
and  further  need,  for  variations  that  may  prove  to  have 
survival  value.  For  if  the  maladaptation  is  great,  and  favor- 
able variations  do  not  soon  appear,  the  unfortunate  species 
becomes  extinct.  The  necessity  of  adaptation  to  the  changing 
environment  thus  makes  the  modification  of  species  perpetual. 

Why  Evolution  is  Produced.  —  But  why  has  this  modi- 
fication been  in  the  direction  of  greater  complexity?  Why 
has  it  been  an  evolution  f  l  It  has  not  always  been.  Natural 
selection  has  sometimes  brought  about  evolution,  sometimes 
devolution,  sometimes  neither.  All  depends  upon  whether 
increased  complexity  has  survival  value  or  not.  Increased 
complexity  is  in  one  way  apt  to  be  advantageous.  When, 
instead  of  a  single  tissue  or  organ's  having  to  perform  several 
distinct  functions,  these  functions  can  be  distributed  among 
a  number  of  different  tissues  or  organs,  a  higher  efficiency  is 

1  The  reader  should  note  that  many  biologists  use  the  term  'evolution' 
to  denote  any  modification  of  a  species.  This  usage  is  unfortunate,  and  has 
given  rise  to  much  confusion.  Thus  the  question  which  we  ask  above  has 
often  been  completely  overlooked. 


366     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

made  possible.  Differentiation,  in  other  words,  has  the 
advantage  that  lies  in  all  specialization.  There  is,  however, 
another  way,  in  which  increased  complexity  may  be  dis- 
advantageous. The  more  complex  organism  has  more 
complex  needs.  All  of  its  many  diverse  parts  must  be  kept 
in  repair,  and  kept  in  adjustment  to  each  other.  Now  some- 
times this  increased  difficulty  of  maintenance  more  than 
balances  the  advantage  of  specialization.  Then  devolution 
takes  place.  For  many  millions  of  years,  since  the  cleaning 
up  of  the  atmosphere  by  the  forests  of  the  coal  age,  evolution 
has  on  the  whole  been  limited  to  land  animals  and  flowering 
plants.  And  thousands  of  species  of  one-celled  organisms, 
both  animal  and  vegetable,  still  dwell  in  our  midst. 

Is  Natural  Selection  Sufficient?  —  Biologists  have  been 
seriously  divided  over  the  question  whether  the  natural 
selection  of  slight  congenital  variations  is  sufficient  to  ac- 
count for  all  the  evolution  of  species  that  has  taken  place. 
When  we  compare  two  widely  separated  forms  —  as  man  and 
his  fish  ancestor  —  this  seems  impossible.  But  the  more  we 
consider  the  long  series  of  forms  that  intervened,  analogues 
of  many  of  which  still  exist,  the  difficulty  greatly  diminishes 
if  it  does  not  wholly  disappear.  For  the  most  striking  trans- 
formations, such  as,  for  example,  the  origin  and  develop- 
ment of  the  limbs,  seem  to  have  been  brought  about  by  in- 
significant quantitative  steps :  slight  changes  in  the  size, 
shape,  number,  and  arrangement  of  minute  structures. 
The  question  is  still  an  open  one,  with  the  burden  of  proof 
upon  the  opponents  of  Darwinism. 

Inheritance  of  Acquired  Characters.  —  There  are  two  chief 
points  upon  which  the  controversy  has  turned.  The  first 
of  these  seemed  at  one  time  to  have  momentous  consequences 
for  ethics,  which  we  shall  consider  in  another  place.  Are 
not  only  congenital  variations  (it  was  asked),  but  also  traits 
acquired  during  the  course  of  individual  life,  inheritable? 
For  example,  does  the  blacksmith's  exercise  of  his  right  arm 


THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  DARWINISM  367 

make  his  child's  biceps  any  bigger?  The  question  has  not 
been  decisively  answered;  but  the  evidence  goes  to  show 
that  if  any  effect  takes  place  it  is  quite  as  slight  as  the  con- 
genital variations  which  the  Darwinian  theory  in  its  extreme 
form  alone  assumes.  The  reproductive  cells,  from  which 
the  new  generation  arises,  are  always  distinct  from  the  or- 
ganism which  contains  them,  and  from  which,  in  parasitic 
fashion,  they  draw  their  nourishment.  So  far  as  can  now 
be  seen,  the  only  way  in  which  the  blacksmith's  exercise 
can  affect  his  child  is  by  somehow  modifying  the  consti- 
tution of  the  blood  upon  which  the  reproductive  cells  feed, 
and  thus  indirectly  affecting  them.  But  there  is  no  reason 
to  suppose  the  effect,  whatever  it  might  be,  would  show  itself 
in  the  child's  right  arm  rather  than  elsewhere. 

Mutations.  —  Upon  the  other  point  we  shall  say  just  a 
word.  Has  evolution  been  due  to  the  selection  of  slight 
variations,  or  to  the  larger  variations  which  sometimes  occur 
and  which  are  called  '  mutations  '  ?  Careful  observation 
has  shown  that  new  species  and  varieties  may,  indeed,  arise 
by  mutation,  but  that  it  is  scarcely  possible  that  any  evolu- 
tion (as  we  have  defined  the  term)  should  be  thus  produced. 
For  the  evidence  goes  to  show  that  mutations  are  caused  by 
the  combination  and  dropping-out  of  different  hereditary 
tendencies  ('  unit-characters,'  as  they  are  called),  which 
persist  unchanged  throughout  all  the  combinations  into  which 
they  enter.  It  is  by  the  slow  accumulation  of  slight  varia- 
tions that  the  origin  of  the  unit-characters  must,  in  all  prob- 
ability, be  itself  explained.1 

III.   APPLICATION  OF  DARWINISM  TO  ETHICS 

The  Conception  of  Moral  Instincts.  —  When  men  inspired 
by  Darwin's  ideas  undertook  to  explain  the  evolution  of 
moral  sentiments,  it  was  natural  enough  that  they  should 

1  Cf.  Castle,  W.  E.,  The  Method  of  Evolution,  in  Heredity  and  Eugenics, 
University  of  Chicago  Press,  1912. 


368     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

overlook  one  striking  difference  between  sentiments  and  the 
different  structures  and  functions  with  which  Darwin  had 
been  occupied.  He  had  been  dealing  with  traits  which  are 
passed  on  from  generation  to  generation  by  heredity,  and 
modified  by  variations  which  are  themselves  perpetuated 
by  heredity.  And  the  early  investigators  of  moral  evolu- 
tion treated  moral  sentiments  as  if  they  too  were  trans- 
mitted in  this  way.  In  other  words,  they  treated  moral 
sentiments  as  instincts,  similar  in  nature  and  origin  to  the 
animal  instincts  of  migration  and  of  protection  of  offspring. 
They  thought  of  them  as  having  been  acquired  by  natural 
selection  and  transmitted  to  each  new  generation  in  the 
shape  of  a  peculiar  inborn  arrangement  in  the  nervous 
mechanism.  They  supposed  that  a  child  inherits  the  tend- 
ency to  approve  of  temperance  and  condemn  untruth- 
fulness,  exactly  as  a  kitten  inherits  from  its  parents  the 
tendency  to  play  with  a  mouse. 

Their  Survival-value.  —  They  looked,  therefore,  to  see 
what  the  survival-value  of  the  '  moral  instincts  '  might  be. 
Do  justice,  chastity,  truthfulness,  kindness,  loyalty,  courage, 
and  temperance  make  a  man  '  fitter  '  to  survive  ?  By  this 
is  meant,  let  it  be  remembered,  not  more  worthy  to  survive, 
but  better  equipped  to  survive,  and  hence  more  likely  to  sur- 
vive. Interpreting  the  question  thus,  the  evolutionists  had 
little  difficulty  in  coming  to  an  affirmative  answer.  Acci- 
dents sometimes  happen ;  but  generally  speaking  it  is  the 
moral  men  that  live  long  in  the  land  and  leave  it  to  their 
children  as  a  heritage. 

Heroic  Virtue.  —  And  yet  a  difficulty  arose.  We  find  men 
almost  universally  admiring  as  the  very  height  of  virtue 
characteristics  that  seem  more  apt  to  lessen  than  to  increase 
the  individual's  chance  of  leaving  offspring.  It  is  well  to 
be  just ;  but  if  you  are  too  scrupulous  you  will  never  be  rich. 
It  is  well  to  be  brave;  but  if  you  are  too  brave  you  will 
never  go  back  to  the  girl  you  left  behind  you.  When  vir- 


THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  DARWINISM          369 

tue  amounts  to  heroism  or  self-sacrifice,  how  can  it  have 
survival- value  ? 

Group-selection.  —  Perhaps  this  difficulty  was  never  felt 
to  be  very  serious ;  but,  at  any  rate,  Darwin  soon  made  a 
suggestion  that  completely  nullified  it.  He  pointed  out 
that  among  social  animals  traits  may  have  a  survival-value, 
not  because  they  are  serviceable  to  the  individual,  but  be- 
cause they  are  serviceable  to  the  social  group.  The  in- 
dustry of  the  worker-bee^  has  survival-value,  even  though 
the  workers  are  all  barren ;  for  it  maintains  the  hive.  The 
warning-calls,  by  which  many  birds  and  mammals  arouse 
their  companions  to  the  presence  of  danger,  have  a  double 
value :  first,  to  their  own  young,  who  may  be  present,  and, 
secondly,  to  the  flock  or  herd  as  a  whole.  Now  is  not  this 
the  case  with  the  virtues  ?  Altogether  apart  from  their  use- 
fulness to  the  individual  in  increasing  his  chance  of  leaving 
offspring,  are  they  not  of  manifest  value  to  the  community  ? 
Without  chastity  the  family  falls  apart;  without  honesty 
commerce  comes  to  a  standstill ;  without  mutual  good-will 
cooperation  for  the  common  defense  or  for  public  improve- 
ments is  impossible;  without  temperance  the  resources  of 
the  community  must  be  wasted ;  without  courage  its  liberty 
cannot  be  maintained. 

Evolution  of  Moral  Instincts.  —  Supposing,  then,  that  the 
moral  sentiments  are  instinctive,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  they 
have  been  developed  and  spread  abroad.  Every  variation 
in  their  direction  would  have  survival-value  and  hence 
would  tend  to  be  selected.  The  more  virtuous  a  society 
is,  the  more  formidable  it  is  both  in  war  and  in  economic 
rivalry,  the  more  apt  to  spread  its  borders  and  send  out 
vigorous  colonies ;  while  the  less  virtuous  dwindle  away  and 
perhaps  wholly  disappear.  In  that  way,  it  may  be  conceived, 
the  virtues  have  grown  to  their  present  degree  of  perfection 
and  have  become  a  general  characteristic  of  the  whole  species. 
The  vicious  man  is  simply  an  instance  (in  respect  of  his  vices) 

2B 


370     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

of  atavism,  or  reversion  to  an  earlier  type :  the  type  of  the 
primitive  savage,  or  perhaps  even  of  the  ape-man  who  was 
still  in  the  condition  of  a  brute. 

Difficulties.  —  Allowing  its  first  assumption,  the  theory 
seemed  on  the  whole  to  work  very  well.  But  two  serious 
difficulties  manifested  themselves. 

(1)  Natural  Selection  too  Slow.  —  The  first  difficulty  was 
of  wider  scope  than  the  theory  of  moral  evolution.  It  at- 
tached to  the  application  of  Darwinism  to  social  evolution 
generally  —  not  only  in  the  field  of  morals,  but  in  that  of 
language,  art,  commerce,  religion,  etc.  Natural  selection 
of  minute  congenital  variations  is  a  very  slow  process.  Social 
evolution  is  a  relatively  rapid,  and,  what  is  more,  an  in- 
creasingly rapid  process.  And  while  changes  in  moral 
sentiments  are  slow  as  compared  with  other  social  changes, 
yet  the  lapse  of  a  century  or  two  can  work  wonders.  But 
even  the  whole  time  of  recorded  history  would  be  too  short 
for  natural  selection  to  make  any  effectual  impress.  Geo- 
logical periods  are  needed. 

Spencer's  Theory.  —  It  was  partly  for  this  reason  that 
many  scholars  insisted  that  the  fruits  of  individual  experi- 
ence must  be  in  great  measure  inheritable.  Herbert  Spencer 
declared  that  moral  instincts  must  have  arisen  from  the 
experience  of  generations  of  our  ancestors,  as  to  what  sorts  of 
conduct  brought  pleasure  to  the  agent  and  to  others,  and 
what  sorts  brought  pain ;  the  experience  being  inherited  by 
each  generation  in  the  form  of  a  vague,  unanalyzable  aver- 
sion to  certain  sorts  of  conduct,  and  passed  on,  intensified 
by  fresh  experiences,  to  the  next.  He  cited  as  an  analogy  the 
rapid  growth  of  an  instinctive  terror  of  man,  in  the  birds  of 
newly  peopled  lands.  The  birds  at  first  view  him  without 
the  slightest  timidity;  but  they  soon  exhibit  great  fear, 
especially  when  he  carries  a  gun.  Unfortunately  for  the 
theory  it  was  soon  shown  that  this  fear  is  not,  and  does  not 
become,  instinctive.  It  is  traditional.  It  is  originally  ac- 


THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  DARWINISM  371 

quired  by  experience,  and  is  diffused  and  transmitted  from 
generation  to  generation  by  means  of  warning  cries.  A  bird, 
hatched  by  a  female  of  another  species,  to  whose  warning 
cries  he  is  unable  to  respond,  grows  up  as  fearless  of  man  as 
the  birds  of  a  desert  island. 

(2)  Immorality  not  Atavistic.  — The  other  difficulty  arose  in 
the  study  of  the  immoral  man,  and  particularly  the  criminal. 
Taking  seriously  the  notion  that  the  criminal  is  a  reversion 
to  a  primitive  type  of  man,  anthropologists  set  themselves 
the  task  of  analyzing  and  describing  this  type.  For  a  time 
all  ran  smoothly.  They  found  that  a  great  number  of  ab- 
normalities, ranging  from  left-handedness  and  color-blind- 
ness to  imbecility  (which  are  known  or  suspected  to  be  ata- 
vistic), were  far  more  common  among  criminals  than  among 
law-abiding  men ;  so  that,  when  they  cast  up  the  averages, 
they  were  able  to  describe  the  criminal  as  a  pretty  definite 
type  of  man.  But,  as  the  critics  soon  pointed  out,  the  fact 
remained  that  great  numbers  of  law-abiding  men  are  far 
more  abnormal  than  the  average  criminal.  The  true  ex- 
planation of  the  facts  was  then  forthcoming.  Habitual 
criminals  are,  hi  great  part,  men  who  either  have  not  learned 
how  to  work,  or  have  not  been  habituated  to  work  so  as  to  make 
it  seem  a  natural  part  of  their  lives.  Any  constitutional 
defect,  whether  atavistic  or  not,  that  makes  it  more  difficult 
for  a  man  to  take  training  —  as  left-handedness  does,  of 
course,  hi  a  slight  degree  —  makes  him  just  so  much  more 
likely  to  become  a  criminal.  But  there  is  no  criminal  type. 

The  Initial  Assumptions  False.  —  Weighed  down  by  these 
and  similar  difficulties,  Darwinism  in  morals  collapsed  — 
at  least  so  far  as  the  opinions  of  ethicists  are  concerned; 
among  educated  men  in  general,  it  still  has  a  considerable 
following.  And  as  it  failed  in  the  field  of  ethics  so  it  failed 
in  all  the  other  departments  of  social  science.  For  the  initial 
assumptions  were  false.  Social  traits  are  not  transmitted 
by  heredity ;  and  it  is  only  to  traits  so  transmitted  that  the 


372     INTRODUCTION  TO   THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

theory  of  natural  selection  applies.  A  language,  for  example, 
is  not  transmitted  by  heredity.  A  child  whose  ancestors 
have  for  a  thousand  years  spoken  nothing  but  English 
learns  to  speak  English  or  Greek  or  Japanese  indifferently, 
according  to  the  circumstances  of  his  upbringing.  A  re- 
ligion is  not  inherited.  A  child  is  not  born  a  Christian  or  a 
Buddhist.  The  Janizaries,  famous  for  their  fanatical  Mo- 
hammedanism, were  recruited  from  the  children  of  Christians. 
An  art  is  not  inherited.  It  is  not  by  intermarriage  with 
the  Spaniards  that  the  Filipinos  acquired  their  taste  and 
skill  in  European  music ;  for  such  intermarriage  has  been 
comparatively  slight.  And  a  morality  is  not  inherited. 
Few  social  changes  have  been  more  striking  than  the  stop 
which  Christianity,  both  in  ancient  and  in  modern  times, 
has  put  to  the  toleration  of  infanticide. 

IV.   CONGENITAL  BASIS  OF  MORALITY 

The  Congenital  Basis.  —  Darwinism  in  the  social  sciences 
has  had,  however,  one  permanently  good  effect.  It  provided 
an  explanation  of  those  congenital  human  endowments  that  lie 
at  the  basis  of  all  our  acquisitions.  Men  used  to  speak  of  a 
religious  instinct  —  thinking,  the  while,  that  they  were 
glorifying  religion  by  putting  it  upon  the  psychological  level 
of  the  migration  of  the  swallow  or  the  web-construction  of 
the  spider.  We  know  now  that  there  is  no  religious  instinct. 
But  there  are,  of  course,  instincts  out  of  which  the  religious 
sentiments  grow ;  for  example,  the  combined  fear  and  curi- 
osity which  strange  phenomena  excite.  Art  in  general  and 
the  several  arts  in  particular  have  their  basis  in  inherited 
traits.  The  pleasantness  of  various  colors  and  color-com- 
binations, and  of  various  proportions  and  curves,  belongs  to 
our  common  human  nature.  The  consonant  intervals 
between  notes  are  the  same  for  all  mankind.1  And  thus  it 

1  Differences  in  the  instrumental  scales  of  various  peoples  long  obscured 
this  point;  but  the  evidence  is  now  overwhelming. 


THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  DARWINISM  373 

is  with  morality.  Though  in  its  developed  form  it  is  not 
inherited,  it  grows  out  of  instincts  and  other  congenital 
tendencies  which  are  indeed  inherited,  and  which,  if  they 
are  absent  from  any  individual,  leave  him  a  moral  imbecile. 

(1)  Sympathy ;   Pride,  Shame,  etc.  —  We  have  spoken  in 
another  connection  of  the  part  which  the  tendency  to  sympa- 
thetic feeling  plays  in  the  development  of  all  sentiments.     In 
the  same  connection  we  spoke  of  the  similar  part  played  by 
the  instinctive  feelings  of  pride  and  shame,  respect  and  con- 
tempt.   Here  we  may  add  that  these  feelings  not  only  in- 
fluence the  development  of  the  moral  sentiments,  but  persist 
as  a  very  common  and  important  factor  in  them.     For  the 
moral  sentiments  have  as  their  objects  types  of  conduct  and 
character.     And,  as  we  recall,  pride  and  shame  are  easily 
awakened  by  a  valuation  set  upon  anything  connected  with 
oneself ;  while  respect  and  contempt  are  as  easily  stimulated 
by  a  valuation  set  upon  anything  connected  with  another. 
But  nothing  is  closer  to  a  man  than  his  own  moral  character 
and  the  conduct  by  which  it  is  expressed.     Hence  in  moral 
emotions  which  we  feel  about  ourselves  pride  and  shame 
generally  enter,  as  respect  and  contempt  enter  into  those 
which  we  feel  about  others. 

(2)  Retributive  Emotions.  —  Account  must  also  be  taken 
of  the  retributive  emotions,  resentment  and  gratitude.    Some 
thinkers  have  held  that  these  feelings,  and  especially  the 
former,  are  the  real  instinctive  basis  of  morality.     This  ex- 
treme view  is  easily  suggested  by  the  sort  of  documents 
from  which  the  history  of  morality  must  in  great  part  be 
studied:    documents  of  a  legal  character.     For  laws  not 
only  set  forth  a  moral  standard  but  attach  penalties  to  non- 
performance  ;   and  the  practice  of  punishment  undoubtedly 
has  its  source  in  the  instinctive  feeling  of  resentment.     Some 
ethicists  have  regarded  moral  approval  and  disapproval  as 
generalized  forms  of  gratitude  and  resentment:    gratitude 
and  resentment  on  behalf  of  the  community.     It  may  be 


374     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

noted  that  these  are  primarily  other-regarding  feelings.  They 
may  at  times  be  directed  toward  oneself,  but  this  is  clearly 
not  their  normal  tendency.  Hence  ethicists  who  treat  these 
feelings  as  the  sole  (or  principal)  basis  of  morality  are  led  to 
treat  the  moral  emotions  that  attach  to  other  persons  as 
primary,  and  those  that  relate  to  oneself  as  a  sort  of  inward 
reflection  of  these.  On  a  general  survey,  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  this  view  is  one-sided.  Our  moral  attitudes 
toward  ourselves  obviously  contain  more  of  pride  and  shame 
than  of  gratitude  and  resentment;  and  in  our  attitudes 
toward  others  respect  and  contempt  often  enter  where  the 
more  active  feelings  of  gratitude  and  resentment  have  no 
place.1 

(3)  Hostility    to    the    Abnormal.  —  Another    instinctive 
feeling  which  should  be  mentioned  on  account  of  its  strong 
conservative  influence  upon  moral  as  well  as  aesthetic  stand- 
ards, is  that  of  hostility  to  what  is  abnormal.     The  part  which 
this  instinct  plays  among  animals  in  weeding  out  tendencies 
to  degeneration  is  well  known,  and  can  in  fact  be  observed 
in  every  barnyard.     In  man  it  is  a  protection,  not  only 
against  congenital  abnormalities,  but  against  abrupt  de- 
partures from  established  usage. 

(4)  Instincts  of  Family  Life.  —  Furthermore,  various  in- 
stinctive tendencies  of  human  nature  have  played  a  direct 
part  in  the  shaping  of  particular  moral  standards.     We  had 
reason  to  mention  several  of  these  in  Part  I,  Chapter  V. 
Especially  worthy  of  notice  are  the  instincts  out  of  which 

1  Closely  connected  with  the  erroneous  view  here  criticized  is  another 
error  which  has  caused  untold  evil.  This  is  the  widespread  opinion  that 
punishment  is  the  essential  agency  in  moral  education.  Now  the  fact  is  that 
only  under  a  narrow  range  of  conditions  has  punishment  any  direct  effect 
upon  the  moral  sentiments  ;  namely,  when  it  excites  shame,  and  shame  not 
at  the  punishment  but  at  the  fault  which  occasioned  it.  It  has,  of  course, 
an  important  indirect  effect  through  the  maintenance  of  order.  But  it  is 
safe  to  say  that  you  can  no  more  beat  morality  into  a  boy  than  you  can  beat 
aesthetic  taste  into  him. 


THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  DARWINISM  375 

family  life  arises :  sexual  love  and  the  jealousy  which  so 
readily  attaches  to  it ;  the  love  of  the  mother  for  her  new- 
born child  l  and  (more  particularly)  for  the  nursing  child ; 
the  love  of  the  child  for  its  nurse;  and  those  vaguer,  but, 
in  the  long  run,  not  less  effective  tendencies  by  which  the 
care  and  companionship  of  the  child  bind  the  whole  family 
together.  In  former  times  it  was  generally  believed  that 
the  community  was  an  outgrowth  of  the  family;  and  no 
doubt  if  one  goes  back  far  enough  that  is  true.  But  it  seems 
probable  that  while  man  was  still  at  the  ape-level  the  hunt- 
ing-group (the  community)  and  the  reproduction-group 
(the  family)  existed  together. 

Human  Values  Products  of  Culture.  —  But  there  is  no 
moral  instinct.  None  of  the  feelings  which  constitute,  as  it 
were,  the  raw  material  of  the  moral  sentiments  are  in  them- 
selves distinctively  moral;  they  are,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
widely  shared  by  the  higher  animals.  This  observation 
need  not,  however,  be  confined  to  morality.  Just  as,  physi- 
ologically, man  has  no  new  tissues  or  organs,  so  psychologi- 
cally man  has  no  new  sensations,  or  (as  it  would  seem) 
instinctive  feelings.  The  elementary  differences  that  we  find 
are  differences  in  degree.  What  is  peculiar  to  humanity  is 
the  complex  organization  of  the  given  elements  that  belong  to 
the  common  heritage  of  man  and  the  higher  animals.  The 
distinctively  human  values  of  art,  religion,  and  morals  are 
products  of  culture.  In  Kant's  words,  though  in  a  somewhat 
altered  sense,  "  Man  becomes  a  man  only  by  education." 

1  We  do  not  wish  to  suggest  that  there  is  in  women  a  specific  instinct  of 
this  sort.  Probably  there  is  not,  but  only  an  instinctive  love  for  children  in 
general,  intensified  by  the  feeling  of  personal  relationship  which  the  months 
of  pregnancy  and  the  pains  of  childbirth  have  inspired.  It  has  been  ob- 
served that  women  in  whom  the  love  of  children  in  general  is  weak,  feel 
little  love  for  their  own  new-born  children,  although  they  may  later  become 
passionately  attached  to  them.  There  is,  of  course,  no  specific  paternal 
instinct.  Men,  like  women,  feel  a  love  of  children  in  general,  but  generally 
in  a  much  weaker  degree ;  and  from  this  beginning  has  arisen  one  of  the 
most  powerful  sentiments  known  to  humanity  —  that  of  fatherhood. 


376     INTRODUCTION  TO   THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Necessity  of  Education.  —  In  fact,  as  we  compare  man 
with  the  higher  brutes,  one  of  the  most  striking  contrasts  lies 
in  the  utter  insufficiency  of  his  instincts  alone  to  direct  his 
behavior,  even  under  the  simplest  conditions  of  savage  life. 
Human  instincts  are  for  the  most  part  fragmentary  and 
vague.  They  require  much  practice  and  experience  to  de- 
velop them  to  a  point  where  they  become  useful.  The 
baby  grasps  by  instinct;  but  his  early  efforts  to  grasp  are 
pitiful  to  see.  He  creeps  by  instinct ;  but  he  is  months  in 
learning  how,  and  many  babies  do  not  learn.  He  walks 
and  runs  by  instinct;  but  he  must  learn  to  do  both.  He 
says  ngd  and  dd  by  instinct ;  but  he  must  learn  to  talk. 

V.  THE  ANALOGY  OF  LANGUAGE 

This  last  remark  suggests  an  instructive  comparison. 

Simple  Sounds  and  Combinations.  —  How  much  of  lan- 
guage is  inherited,  and  how  much  is  traditional?  Certain 
of  the  consonant  and  vowel  sounds  occur  in  the  instinctive 
cries  and  exclamations  of  the  infant.  Others  almost  inevi- 
tably come  to  him  as  he  amuses  himself  by  making  noises 
with  his  mouth,  and,  when  they  catch  his  attention,  are  re- 
peated until'he  has  a  mastery  of  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
many  more  sounds  thus  occur  than  any  language  has  use  for. 
A  selection  is  thus  instituted  which  varies  widely  from  one 
language  or  family  of  languages  to  another.  Thus  the  Fili- 
pino dialects  are  generally  lacking  in  the  sounds  of  /,  v,  ih 
and  sh  (hard  and  soft),  ch,  j,  and  z.  Moreover,  the  sounds 
selected  are  fixed  and  standardized  in  a  way  that  varies 
greatly.  The  French  I  and  the  English  I  are  not  exactly  the 
same,  the  one  being  a  dental,  the  other  a  palatal  sound.  The 
permitted  combinations  of  sounds  are  also  fixed  by  tradition. 
We  find  the  Greek  initial  kt  and  pt  awkward.  In  many 
languages  no  two  consonants  ever  come  together,  and  every 
syllable  ends  with  a  vowel.  In  others  no  two  consonants  can 
come  together  except  at  the  end  of  one  syllable  and  the 


THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  DARWINISM  377 

beginning  of  the  next.  Thus  it  is  fair  to  say  that  the  vocal 
elements  of  any  language  are  in  no  part  merely  inherited. 
All,  as  we  have  it,  is  traditional. 

Speech-melodies,  etc.  —  Again,  the  so-called  melodies  of 
speech  —  such,  for  example,  as  the  marking-off  of  a  paren- 
thetical phrase  by  a  lower  pitch,  or  as  the  rising  inflection  char- 
acteristic of  the  question  to  be  answered  by  '  yes  '  or  '  no  ' 

—  are  instinctive.     There  are  even  instinctive  words,  such 
as  '  huh-huh  '  and  '  m-m,'  for  '  yes  '  and  '  no/     But  these  too 
are  given  their  specific  local  forms  by  tradition.     Nothing 
seems  more  senseless  to  an  American  (before  he  gets  used  to 
it)  than  the  sing-song  of  an  Englishman's  speech.     And,  as 
we  well  know,  the  sentiment  is  reciprocated.     The  varieties 
of  '  huh-huh's  '  and  '  m-m's  ;  have  never  been  counted.     And 
the  instinctive  meaning  is  probably  not  exactly  yes  and  no, 
but  consent  and  refusal.1    Add  to  the  list  a  few  exclama- 
tions, also  standardized  and  greatly  modified  by  variations 
of  tradition  —  '  ouch  '  and  '  ah  '  and  the  like  —  and  the  in- 
stinctive part  of  language  seems  to  be  fairly  summed  up. 
Almost  the  whole  vocabulary,  the  parts  of  speech,  the  dis- 
tinctions of  case,  number,  person,  voice,  tense,  and  mood, 
the  order  of  words  (except,  perhaps,  the  subject-predicate 
order)  are  traditional.     There  is  no  natural  grammar.     And 
of  that  which  is  beyond  grammar  —  the  soul  of  the  language 

—  all  lives  only  in  tradition. 

Conclusion.  —  Now  we  may  venture  to  say  that  in  moral- 
ity the  instinctive  and  the  traditional  —  or,  if  you  please, 
the  animal  and  the  human  —  are  similarly  related.  What 
belongs  to  instinct  is  essential,  of  course ;  but  it  is  only  a 
bare  beginning.  Even  what  is  directly  due  to  instinct  is 
subject  to  selection  and  standardization.  (The  example  of 
the  prohibited  degrees  of  marriage  recurs  to  us.)  But  the 
instinctive  contributions  are  at  best  but  slight  in  comparison 

1  The  shake  of  the  head  is  originally  a  refusal  to  take  offered  food.  The 
nod  seems  to  be  an  expression  of  determination. 


378     INTRODUCTION  TO   THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

with  the  developed  sentiments  which  have  grown  out  of 
them,  and  which  are  transmitted  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, not  by  heredity,  but  by  the  sympathetic  contact  of 
man  with  man. 


REFERENCES 

DARWIN,  C.,  Descent  of  Man,  Chs.  IV,  V. 

HUXLEY,  T.  H.,  Evolution  and  Ethics. 

SCHURMAN,  J.  G.,  Ethical  Import  of  Darwinism. 

FISKE,  J.,  Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy,  Part  II,  Ch.  XXII. 

SORLEY,  W.  R.,  Recent  Tendencies  in  Ethics,  Ch.  II. 

STEPHEN,  L.,  Ethics  and  the  Struggle  for  Existence,  in  Contemporary 

Review,  Vol.  LXIV,  reprinted  in  Popular  Science  Monthly,  Vol. 

XLIV. 
DEWEY,  J.,  Evolution  and  Ethics,  in  Monist,  Vol.  VIII. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS 
I.   CONDITIONS  OF  MORAL  EVOLUTION 

Moral  Evolution  Affected  by  Non-moral  Sentiments.  — 
There  is  a  sense  in  which  the  separate  study  of  the  evolution 
of  morality  is  impracticable.  For  morality  is  dependent 
throughout  its  evolution  upon  religion,  art,  politics,  and 
scientific  inquiry  —  nay,  even  upon  such  pettier  concerns 
as  sport  and  social  entertainment.  All  these,  it  may  be  said, 
are  similarly  dependent  upon  one  another  and  upon  morality. 
But  the  peculiar  double  function  which  morality  performs, 
as  the  essential  condition  of  social  unity  and  of  the  unity  of 
personal  character,  makes  it  especially  open  to  modifying 
influences  from  every  quarter.  Not  that  moral  sentiments 
change  easily.  On  the  contrary,  their  stability  is  extraor- 
dinary. But  it  is  the  almost  endless  complexity  of  the  in- 
terests which  they  correlate  that  gives  them  this  stability. 
And,  contrariwise,  if  one  is  to  understand  the  moral  evolu- 
tion that  has  taken  place,  no  class  of  interests  can  be  safely 
neglected. 

And  on  Economic  Changes.  —  Meanwhile  the  moral  senti- 
ments, in  common  with  every  other  class  of  sentiments, 
have  been  dependent  in  their  evolution  upon  conditions  of 
another  kind.  We  have  elsewhere  pointed  out  that  social 
intercourse  comprises  the  interchange  of  services  and  goods, 
as  well  as  of  ideas  and  sentiments.  Social  evolution  thus 
involves  as  an  essential  factor  the  evolution  of  industry  and 
commerce.  And  we  must  not  disguise  the  fact  that  the  his- 

379 


380     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

tory  of  morality,  like  that  of  religion,  art,  and  politics,  can- 
not be  adequately  studied  without  a  parallel  study  of  eco- 
nomic history. 

Let  us  note,  by  way  of  illustration,  a  few  of  the  most 
obvious  effects  of  the  evolution  of  industry  upon  morality. 

Primitive  man  does  no  work.  He  gets  food  for  a  meal  or 
two  at  a  time ;  he  provides  himself  with  rude  clothing  and 
shelter;  he  makes  a  few  tools  and  weapons.  But  all  that 
he  does  is  for  the  immediate  support  of  himself  and  his  family, 
or,  perhaps,  his  companions  in  the  chase.  In  civilized  society 
the  vast  majority  of  men  must  work  —  must  devote  the 
greater  part  of  their  waking  life  and  the  utmost  limits  of 
their  energy  to  tasks  which  contribute  nothing  directly  to 
their  own  support.  The  necessity  of  learning  to  work  in- 
volves the  modification  or  suppression  of  powerful  human 
instincts.  Hence  the  virtue  of  industry.  Among  primitive 
men  there  is  no  wealth,  and  consequently  no  war ;  for  there 
are  neither  the  motives  nor  the  means  for  carrying  on  war. 
With  the  accumulation  of  wealth  war  begins,  and  with  war 
arises  the  relation  between  chief  and  common  man,  and  the 
military  duty  of  obedience.  Necessarily  bound  up  with  the 
organization  of  work  is  the  exchange  of  goods ;  and  this 
cannot  proceed  far  without  the  institution  of  contracts 
and  the  commercial  virtue  of  honesty. 

Is  this  '  Materialism '  ?  —  These  are  but  a  few  hints  of 
the  close  and  constant  influence  which  economic  conditions 
have  had  upon  morality.  Sometimes  ethicists  have  been 
inclined  to  minimize  this  influence,  feeling  that  it  gave  too 
'  materialistic  '  a  tone  to  the  subject.  But  this  was  ill- 
advised  ;  for  the  reciprocal  influence  of  morality  upon  eco- 
nomic conditions  is  no  less  real.  And,  indeed,  if  the 
development  of  morality  had  not  been  constantly  controlled 
by  non-moral  conditions,  it  would  stand  to-day  out  of  re- 
lation with  such  conditions,  an  ineffectual  mass  of  prejudice. 

Now  this  is  not  to  deny  that  moral  evolution  presents  a 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      381 

certain  inner  continuity.  It  does.  It  makes  a  very  in- 
teresting story.  But  if  any  one  imagines  that,  taking  this 
story  as  it  stands,  it  presents  a  complete  causal  sequence, 
hi  which  the  earlier  events  sufficiently  account  for  the  later, 
he  is  woefully  mistaken.  And  yet  he  is  no  more  mistaken 
than  the  man  who  supposes  that  economic  history  is  a  com- 
plete causal  sequence,  in  relation  to  which  morality  is  but 
an  unsubstantial  '  epiphenomenon.' 

II.  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  EVOLUTION 
The  Problem  Stated.  —  Nevertheless  there  is  one  line  of 
questions  with  regard  to  moral  evolution  which  may,  and 
indeed  must,  receive  separate  treatment.  As  moral  stand- 
ards arise  and  are  modified  in  response  to  changed  conditions, 
how  is  the  particular  mode  of  response  determined?  For 
though  morality  may  develop  in  an  economic  environment, 
it -is  morality  none  the  less ;  and  the  adjustment  to  external 
change  is  its  adjustment.  |/There  is  a  real  development  of 
morality  as  it  has  been,  not  a  mere  accretion  or  substitution 
from  without.  It  always  remains  true  that  a  different 
morality,  under  a  like  economic  stress,  would  develop  dif- 
ferently. And  we  therefore  ask:  In  what  characteristic 
way  is  the  adjustment  of  morality  to  external  conditions  deter- 
mined? 

Analogy  of  Organic  Evolution.  —  The  problem  which  is 
thus  set  before  us  is  comparable  to  that  which  Darwin  asked 
with  reference  to  organic  evolution,  and  for  the  solution  of 
which  his  theory  of  natural  selection  was  offered.  How  is 
the  adaptation  of  the  species  to  changing  environmental 
conditions  directed?  Of  the  nature  of  the  particular  en- 
vironmental changes  he  had  in  most  cases  very  slight  knowl- 
edge ;  and  of  the  causes  of  these  changes  he  had  almost  no 
knowledge  at  all.  Even  so  recent  and  extraordinary  a 
phenomenon  as  the  glacial  epoch  remains  to-day  very  im- 
perfectly explained.  Yet  Darwin  was  able,  from  his  survey 


382     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

of  the  conditions  of  organic  life,  to  propose  a  general  theory 
of  the  way  in  which  organic  evolution  at  all  times  proceeds. 

The  JSsthetical  Problem.  —  A  similar  problem  may,  of 
course,  be  raised  with  respect  to  every  distinct  class  of  senti- 
ments and  values.  For  example,  we  may  ask  how  the 
changes  of  aesthetic  sentiment  are  determined.  In  the  last 
third  of  the  seventeenth  century  the  English  stage  developed 
an  exceedingly  fine  '  comedy  of  manners/  which  culminated 
in  the  masterpieces  of  Congreve  and  Farquhar.  Suddenly 
it  was  swept  away;  .and  though  a  half-century  later  it  en- 
joyed a  brief  revival  (at  the  hands  of  two  Irishmen),  this 
was  only  to  be  followed  by  a  new  and  permanent  collapse. 
Why  these  changes  in  public  taste?  A  religious  revival  is 
pointed  to  as  the  first  destructive  agency,  and  the  French 
Revolution  as  the  second.  Such  an  account  may  satisfy  the 
literary  historian.  But  the  great  question  of  evolutionary 
theory  remains :  How  does  public  taste  change  ? 

The  General  Problem.  —  A  similar  question  may  also  be 
asked  with  reference  to  sentiments  and  values  in  general. 
No  doubt  different  classes  of  sentiments  have  their  own  char- 
acteristic modes  of  evolution.  But  it  is  at  least  open  to 
inquiry  whether  there  is  not  a  generic  resemblance  among 
them  all ;  and,  if  this  be  the  case,  the  establishment  of  this 
resemblance  is  a  scientific  desideratum  of  great  magnitude. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  little  has  yet  been  accomplished 
toward  the  upbuilding  of  a  general  evolutionary  theory 
of  values.  Some  few  points  will  be  noted  here. 

III.  THE  MODIFICATION  OF  STANDARDS  OF  VALUE 
(l)  The  Canoe  :  the  Accepted  Type.  —  A  most  suggestive 
illustration  —  because  of  its  visible  concreteness  —  of  the 
mode  of  change  which  standards  of  value  exhibit,  is  to  be 
found  in  the  successive  modifications  by  which  useful  im- 
plements are  gradually  brought  to  perfection.  Among 
savages  of  a  low  grade  the  standard  of  a  good  canoe  is  very 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      383 

simple.  Roughly  shaped  from  a  single  log,  the  canoe  is 
heavy,  slow,  and  awkward,  of  small  carrying-capacity,  and 
easily  swamped  in  stormy  weather;  and  yet  its  owner  is 
quite  content  with  it.  One  specimen  after  another  is  con- 
structed after  a  traditional  pattern,  without  thought  of 
possible  improvement.  Of  course,  the  uses  of  such  a  boat 
are  limited ;  but  so  long  as  there  is  no  need  to  use  it  beyond 
these  limits,  their  presence  is  unfelt ;  just  as  we  do  not  feel 
it  to  be  a  defect  in  an  ordinary  steamship  that  it  could  not 
survive  an  arctic  winter.  If  the  savage  fisherman's  boat  is 
swamped,  he  blames  the  rough  weather,  which  might  have 
been  different.  It  never  occurs  to  him  that  the  boat  might 
have  been  different,  unless,  perhaps,  it  might  have  been 
more  lucky.  The  type  of  boat  he  accepts  as  implicitly  as  if 
it  were  a  natural  species. 

Discontent  and  Invention.  —  But  gradually  the  demands 
upon  the  canoe  increase.  We  need  not  here  ask  the  reason 
why.  It  may  be  war,  or  sport,  or  the  failure  of  a  usual  food 
supply.  But,  for  whatever  reason,  more  is  required.  The 
canoe  must  bear  heavier  burdens,  in  rougher  waters,  and 
with  greater  speed.  As  it  is  pressed  into  this  more  exacting 
service,  its  deficiencies  are  soon  manifest.  Mishaps  are 
increasingly  common  and  serious.  Discontent  begins  to  be 
felt,  not  now  with  the  weather  —  for  equally  bad  weather 
must  often  be  met  —  but  with  the  boat ;  and  discontent  is 
the  mother  of  invention.  When  one  boat  is  accidentally 
better  than  another,  discontent  sharpens  men's  eyes  to  see 
the  essential  points  of  difference.  Various  analogies  suggest 
improvements,  and  discontent  supplies  the  initiative  that 
gives  them  a  trial.  Thus,  let  us  say,  the  sides  of  the  boat 
are  built  up,  the  seams  are  stopped  with  pitch,  outriggers 
are  added,  and  the  general  lines  are  so  modified  that  the 
resistance  of  the  water  and  of  contrary  winds  is  decreased. 
And  as  discontent  prompts  the  inventor,  so  discontent  in 
those  about  him  makes  them  welcome  his  suggestion  and 


384     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

imitate  it  in  their  own  new  boats.1  Moreover,  just  as 
changed  external  conditions  first  brought  new  demands  upon 
the  boat,  so  its  improved  form  leads  to  new  uses  —  let  us 
say,  to  a  more  extensive  commerce  —  and  the  change  in 
social  conditions  thus  arising  may  react  in  increased  de- 
mands upon  the  boat.  Thus  a  widened  commerce,  which 
was  at  first  a  convenience,  may  easily  become  a  necessity 
by  reason  of  the  increased  population  or  higher  standard  of 
living  which  it  helps  to  bring  about. 

Acceptance  of  the  New  Type.  —  Now  it  should  be  observed 
that  when  a  man  makes  a  boat  according  to  a  customary 
pattern,  he  need  have  little  or  no  idea  of  the  significance  of 
the  various  proportions  which  he  follows.  He  may  very 
likely  see  why  the  sides  are  built  up,  but  not  why  they  are 
built  up  just  so  high  and  not  higher.  He  sees  clearly  that 
the  bow  cuts  through  the  water;  but  it  does  not  occur  to 
him  to  ask  why  it  should  not  be  sharper.  His  appreciation 
of  the  pattern  is  thus  vague;  and  we  must  add  that  it  is 
very  superficial.  The  general  type  of  the  boat  is  simply' 
taken  for  granted,  accepted  without  question,  even  by  the 
cleverest  constructors ;  and  when  one  does  not  question,  no 
reasons  appear.  As  each  modification  is  suggested  and  ac- 
cepted, its  significance  must  be  in  some  measure  understood. 
But  as  soon  as  the  modification  has  become  incorporated  in 
the  accepted  pattern,  any  understanding  of  it  is  no  longer 
necessary.  Imitation  now  suffices.  Thus,  while  there  may 

1  Psychologists  have  sometimes  reasoned  as  if  an  invention  had  only  to 
be  made,  in  order  to  be  appreciated  and  imitated.  This  is  so  far  true,  that 
the  discontent  that  stirred  in  the  inventor  was  almost  certainly  not  confined 
to  him  —  he  has  a  public  prepared  for  him.  But  the  prepared  public  may 
be  small ;  and  it  may  be  years  and  years  before  the  larger  public  is  ready. 
As  far  as  mere  imitation  goes,  the  traditional  mode  of  doing  things  offers 
a  thousand  models  to  the  inventor's  one.  The  imitative  tendency  alone 
would  seldom  suffice  to  lead  men  aside  into  the  new  ways.  This  is  some- 
times strikingly  evident  when  the  attempt  is  made  to  introduce  a  foreign 
invention  among  a  people  who  are  entirely  content  with  their  own  methods 
—  American  tools  among  the  Mexican  peons,  for  example. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      385 

be  no  significant  feature  of  the  boat  that  has  not  at  some  time 
been  understood  —  namely,  when  it  was  introduced  —  the 
boat  as  a  whole  never  has  been  understood. 

Mental  Simplification.  —  In  this  respect  the  boat  exem- 
plifies a  very  general  law  of  mental  and  social  evolution.  The 
results  of  experience  are  not  conserved,  in  the  individual  or 
in  the  race,  in  the  form  in  which  they  have  been  acquired, 
but  in  a  more  or  less  simplified  or  abbreviated  form.  A  boy 
learns  to  play  a  piece  on  the  violin.  The  accomplishment 
is  a  very  different  thing  in  his  experience,  from  what  it  will 
be  when  it  has  become  a  familiar  habit.  Ajwoman  meets 
on  the  street  a  man  to  whom  she  was  introduced  the  evening 
before.  The  mental  process  of  recognition  is  far  more  com- 
plex than  it  will  be  when  he  has  become  an  intimate  friend. 
In  the  acquiring  or  modifying  of  a  function,  consciousness  is 
present  in  forms  and  degrees  that  are  superfluous  when  the 
acquisition  or  modification  has  been  effected ;  and  in  so  far 
as  consciousness  becomes  superfluous,  it  drops  out.  The 
same  principle  probably  applies  also  to  the  evolution  of 
instincts;  though  precisely  how  it  works  here  is  still 
uncertain.1 

The  modification  of  the  standard  of  a  good  boat  may  now 
be  paralleled  by  examples  of  modifications  in  other  kinds  of 
valuation. 

(2)  The  Accepted  Price.  —  In  a  certain  Filipino  village 
the  price  of  eggs  was  a  penny  (i.e.  $.006i)  apiece.  If  you 
asked  why,  the  only  answer  was  that  such  was  the  custom 
in  those  parts.  When  one  had  eggs  to  sell,  one  sold  them 
at  a  penny  an  egg,  if  at  all.  If  one  wished  to  buy,  one  of- 
fered a  penny  an  egg ;  and  if  none  could  be  procured  at  that 
price,  one  simply  went  without. 

The  New  Market  Price.  —  But  a  change  came.  A  little 
American  colony  grew  up  in  the  neighborhood.  The  Amer- 

1  Cf.  C.  Lloyd  Morgan,  Habit  and  Instinct,  especially  the  concluding 
chapter. 

2c 


386     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

leans  bought  eggs  for  a  penny  apiece ;  and  when  the  supply 
ran  short  they  offered  twopence,  and,  on  occasion,  even  more. 
This  the  townsfolk  set  down  as  weak  foolishness  —  as  the 
European  cabdriver  sets  down  as  folly  the  extravagance  of 
the  American  who  gives  him  an  over-large  tip.  But  if  Amer- 
icans were  foolish,  all  the  more  reason  for  plundering  them 
with  a  good  conscience.  So  the  Filipinos  saved  their  eggs 
to  sell  to  the  Americans  at  twopence.  Between  themselves 
the  old  price  still  subsisted.  They  were  ashamed  to  ask  a 
fellow-townsman  more  than  the  '  real  value '  of  the  eggs. 
But  the  consequence  was  that  more  and  more  often  the 
Filipino  who  needed  eggs  could  not  buy  them.  The  egg- 
owner  would  declare  that  he  had  none  to  sell. 

The  Change  of  the  Standard.  —  The  situation  was  thus  a 
strained  one.  Not  to  be  able  to  buy  eggs  occasionally  was 
to  be  expected  and  endured ;  almost  never  to  be  able  to  buy 
them  was  not  so  easily  endurable.  Gradually  sales  at  the 
new  price  began  to  be  made  between  Filipinos,  though  with 
some  grumbling.  A  few  conservatives  long  continued  to 
declare  that  they  would  never  consent  to  be  robbed;  and 
perhaps  they  kept  their  word.  But  eggs  were  now  by  gen- 
eral consent  worth  twopence  apiece.  Their  value  had 
changed.  And  the  reason  was  plain.  The  extravagant 
Americans  had  raised  the  price  at  which  they  could  be  bought 
and  sold ;  and  the  popular  valuation  had  gradually  come  into 
accordance  with  the  new  conditions.  But  we  may  venture 
to  predict  that  if  the  two-penny  rate  endures,  it  will,  in  popu- 
lar estimation,  soon  be  an  axiomatic  principle. 

Comparison  with  Previous  Example.  —  It  need  hardly 
be  said  that  the  change  in  economic  valuation  is  a  much 
simpler  process  than  the  change  in  the  standard  of  a  good 
boat.  The  element  of  invention  scarcely  enters.  The  value 
of  the  eggs  (i.e.  the  price  at  which  they  are  thought  to  be 
neither  '  cheap  '  nor  '  dear ')  simply  accommodates  itself 
to  the  market  price  (i.e.  the  price  at  which  they  can  be  freely 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      387 

bought  and  sold).1  In  this  respect  economic  valuation  is 
exceptional.  But  the  generic  resemblance  to  the  case  of  the 
boat  is  still  evident.  There  is  the  same  transition  from  one 
customary  standard  to  another,  brought  about  by  dissatis- 
faction with  ills  that  were  once  endured  as  occasional  acci- 
dents, but  can  now  no  longer  be  so  regarded. 

(3)  Art-forms.  —  We  may  add  a  few  general  remarks  with 
regard  to  the  modification  of  art-forms.  The  modifications 
occur  hi  many  ways  which  we  cannot  now  attempt  to  enu- 
merate or  classify.  Always,  however,  there  is  the  customary 
standard  to  begin  with,  which  is  commonly  followed  with 
only  the  shallowest  appreciation  of  its  limitations ;  and  when 
the  modification  has  been  effected  it  soon  forms  part  of  a 
new  custom,  as  little  understood  as  the  first.  Why,  for 
example,  should  the  sonnet  have  fourteen  lines,  rather  than 
fifteen?  The  rhyming  scheme  is  pretty;  but  why  should 
this  one  scheme  be  perpetuated  in  hundreds  upon  hundreds 
of  poems?  One  common  source  of  dissatisfaction  with  old 
art-forms  is  this :  that  they  are  applied  to  a  new  material 
or  a  new  content  or  a  new  useful  end,  by  which  their  limita- 
tions are  emphasized.  A  beautiful  example  is  to  be  found 
in  the  adaptation  of  the  English  iambic  pentameter  verse, 
originally  (in  Chaucer  and  his  followers)  a  narrative  form,  to 
the  uses  of  the  Elizabethan  drama.  On  the  stage  its  stiff- 
ness and  formality  became  a  nuisance;  and  little  by  little 
the  regularity  of  its  rhythm  was  relaxed  until  it  had  almost 
the  freedom  of  prose.  Long  before  the  closing  of  the  theaters 
(with  the  establishment  of  the  Commonwealth)  the  new 
dramatic  versification  had  become  an  accepted  type. 

1  It  should  be  observed  that  the  science  of  economics  either  takes  no  ac- 
count of  what  we  here  call  the  value  of  the  eggs  (the  term  '  value '  being  ap- 
plied to  the  market  price),  or  else  looks  upon  it  as  a  merely  individual  matter. 
Economics  seems  not  to  suffer  in  consequence ;  but  from  the  standpoint  of 
the  general  theory  of  values  the  confusion  of  thought  that  results  is  most 
unfortunate.  The  standards  of  cheapness  and  dearness  are  certainly  no 
more  individual  than  the  standards  of  good  taste  in  dress  or  deportment. 


388     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

IV.   CONVENTIONALITY  IN  MORAL  STANDARDS 

We  have  now  to  examine  how  this  general  mode  of 
evolution  exhibits  itself  in  the  particular  case  of  moral 
standards. 

(1)  In  Standards  of  Duty.  —  It  is  not  difficult  to  observe 
that  in  a  great  part  of  our  moral  judgments  the  standards 
applied  are  quite  as  conventional,  quite  as  empty  of  under- 
standing, as  the  penny-an-egg  standard  or  the  fourteen-line- 
sonnet  standard  have  ever  been.     That  it  is  wrong  to  steal  or 
tell  a  lie ;  that  suicide  is  worse  than  larceny — judgments  such 
as  these  are  accepted  and  applied  to  particular  instances 
without  a  thought  that  there  may  be  a  rational  ground  for 
them,  much  less  that  a  rational  ground  is  needed.     Indeed, 
to  some  men  it  has  seemed  to  involve  a  gross  misconception 
of  the  nature  of  moral  values  to  ask  for  a  ground  for  them. 
What  is  wrong  is  wrong  (they  have  said),  and  that's  the  end 
of  it ;  what  is  right  is  right,  and  any  attempt  at  further  justi- 
fication only  belittles  its  essential  character. 

(2)  In  Standards  of  Benevolence.  —  Do  these  remarks 
apply  only  to  the  morality  of  duty?    They  apply   most 
widely  and  most  obviously  there ;  but  they  have  also  their 
application  to  the  morality  of  benevolence  and  to  that  of 
virtue.     To  speak  first  of  benevolence,  we  recall   that  its 
direction  is  laid  down  by  standards  of  duty  —  we  are  not 
called  upon  to  squander  our  kindnesses  indiscriminately  — 
and,  in  so  far,  benevolence  is  apt  to  be  as  conventional  as  any 
accustomed  duty.     Moreover,  the  goods  of  various  kinds 
which  benevolent  men  bestow  —  money,  education,  social 
prominence,  political  liberty,  and  the  rest  —  are  in  great 
part  conventionally  estimated.     It  may  be  objected  that 
this  does  not  affect  the  character  of  the  benevolence  itself 
that  it  may  in  its  own  sphere  be  equally  intelligent,  whether 
the  non-moral  valuations  upon  which  it  rests  are  conven- 
tional or  not ;  much  as  an  argument  may  be  perfectly  valid, 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      389 

irrespective  of  the  truth  or  falsity  of  its  premises.  But  the 
objection  is  not  wholly  sound.  When  one  unquestioningly 
accepts  the  conventional  valuation  of  the  objects  of  a  be- 
nevolent enterprise  —  universal  suffrage,  for  example  —  this 
valuation  is  raised  to  the  rank  of  a  moral  principle.  It 
helps  to  define  what  altruism  means.  And  the  consequence 
is  that  where  other  equally  estimable  objects  conflict,  a 
spirit  of  intolerance  shows  itself,  as  blindly  irrational  as  any 
Pharisaism. 

(3)  In  Standards  of  Virtue.  —  And  the  virtues,  too,  are 
conventional.  We  might  infer  this  from  their  dependence 
upon  the  standards  of  duty  and  altruism ;  but  a  direct  ex- 
amination shows  it  very  clearly.  The  virtues,  taken  strictly, 
are  monstrosities,  as  indeed  all  ideals  are.  For  human  im- 
agination can  never  set  up  a  standard  of  perfection  in  one 
respect,  except  at  the  cost  of  a  sacrifice  of  essential  values  hi 
other  respects.  The  just  man  of  our  idealizing  fancy  is  a 
machine;  the  merciful  man  is  a  weakling;  the  brave,  the 
temperate,  the  wise,  are  fools  and  ascetics  and  cads.  No 
ideal  could  be  endured,  or  rather  no  ideal  would  be  possible, 
if  it  were  not  to  some  extent  conventional ;  and,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  moral  ideals  are  often  thoroughly  conventional.  We 
see  this  in  the  heroes  of  other  times :  in  the  Hebrew  prophet 
who  slew  with  his  own  hands  the  prisoner  whom  the  king 
had  wished  to  save  in  the  extermination  of  an  accursed 
people;  in  the  Spartan  father  who  butchered  his  daughter 
to  prove  that  she  was  a  virgin ;  in  the  Christian  saint  who 
passed  his  life  upon  a  pillar.  And  we  have  to  expect  that 
the  day  will  come  when  the  like  will  be  as  obvious  of  the 
heroes  of  to-day.  In  practice  we  distrust  the  virtues,  as  we 
distrust  all  extremes.  We  temper  them  with  each  other: 
justice  with  mercy,  courage  with  wisdom.  It  matters  not 
that  logically  they  are  but  various  aspects  of  a  single  whole. 
We  see  the  aspects  as  if  they  were  wholes,  and  can  only  fit 
them  together  by  prunings-off  and  compromises. 


390    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

The  Conventional  Element  is  Indispensable.  —  At  this 
point  a  warning  may  be  in  place.  To  point  out  that  our 
moral  standards  are  in  great  part  conventional  is  not  nec- 
essarily to  criticize  our  morality  in  a  hostile  fashion.  It  is 
not  necessarily  to  decry  it  in  comparison  with  an  imaginary 
morality  that  is  rational  through  and  through.  For  the 
truth  is  that,  unless  human  intelligence  were  enormously  in- 
creased, such  a  morality  as  that  would  have  to  be  very  limited 
and  superficial.  The  appreciation  of  values  is  in  this  respect 
like  the  understanding  of  external  things.  Much  of  our 
understanding  is  in  terms  that  are  conventional,  and,  while 
they  are  grossly  unclear,  derive  an  apparent  clearness  from 
the  very  fact  that  they  are  uncritically  taken  for  granted. 
For  two  thousand  years  one  of  the  fundamental  conceptions 
of  science  was  '  the  wet/  Every  one  thought  that  he  knew 
what  was  meant  by  it,  so  no  one  asked.  Finally  Bacon 
exposed  it.  "The  word  'wet,'"  he  said,  "is  nothing  else 
than  a  mark  loosely  and  confusedly  applied  to  denote  a 
variety  of  properties  which  cannot  be  reduced  to  any  con- 
sistent meaning."  And  now  men  of  science  agree  that  he 
was  right.  But,  in  different  degrees,  the  same  is  true  of  all 
(or  almost  all)  of  the  fundamental  scientific  conceptions  of 
to-day,  not  to  speak  of  the  conceptions  of  ordinary  common 
sense.  If  they  seem  crystal  clear,  it  is  only  because  they  are 
uncritically  accepted.  Space,  time,  energy,  and  the  trans- 
formation of  energy  are  all  nests  of  vague  assumptions.  Now 
is  this  to  say  that  science  (or  common  sense)  would  be  im- 
proved by  a  banishing  of  the  vague?  No  indeed.  Unless 
human  intelligence  were  enlarged  so  as  to  be  truly  divine, 
we  need  the  conventional,  we  need  the  vague.  Limit  us  to 
what  is  ideally  rational  and  clear,  and  the  cleverest  of  us 
would  never  be  able  to  understand  the  manufacture  of  an 
omelet.  And  so,  we  repeat,  it  is  in  the  matter  of  valuation : 
we  need  the  conventional,  the  irrational,  the  vague;  and 
not  less  in  morality  than  in  art  or  politics. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      391 

It  is  not  Diminishing.  —  But,  it  may  be  asked,  as  science 
advances  are  not  vague  conceptions  cleared  up?  And  is 
not  this,  at  least  in  part,  what  the  advancement  of  science 
means:  that  its  working-conceptions  are  more  and  more 
stripped  of  the  '  accidents  '  of  conventionality  and  set  forth 
in  their  plain,  intelligible  truth?  And  must  not  the  like  be 
true  of  moral  progress:  that,  at  least  in  part,  it  consists 
in  the  rationalization  of  moral  standards?  No  doubt  all 
these  questions  must  be  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Vague- 
ness and  conventionality  are  not  advantages  but  defects, 
and  every  successful  reduction  of  them  is  an  improvement. 
But  we  must  not  forget  that  while  they  are  reduced  in  one 
and  another  quarter,  the  totality  of  the  vague  and  the  con- 
ventional is  not  reduced.  For  with  progress  there  comes, 
too,  an  immense  broadening  of  the  fields  of  knowledge  and 
appreciation.  More  and  more  is  being  added  that  has  yet 
to  undergo  the  process  of  rationalization.  The  bulk  of  our 
unclear  conceptions,  of  our  naive  standards,  becomes  greater, 
not  less. 

In  pointing  out,  therefore,  that  our  moral  standards  are 
largely  conventional,  we  intend  no  hostile  criticism.  We 
are,  indeed,  admitting  that  there  is  scope  for  improvement ; 
but  after  every  improvement  there  will  be  more  scope  for 
improvement  than  before. 

V.   DOUBT  AND  REFLECTION 

Let  us  return  to  the  subject  and  observe  that  while  the 
standards  of  morality  are  in  process  of  change  we  become 
keenly  aware  of  their  significance,  at  least  so  far  as  the  suc- 
cessive modifications  themselves  are  concerned. 

The  Passing  of  Wifely  Obedience.  —  There  was  a  time, 
not  long  ago,  when  obedience  in  a  wife  passed  as  a  virtue. 
We  do  not  now  generally  so  regard  it.  The  promise  to  obey 
is  more  and  more  commonly  dropped  from  the  marriage 
service ;  and  where  it  is  retained  it  is  regarded  as  an  empty 


392     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

formula,  not  as  the  acceptance  of  a  serious  life-long  obliga- 
tion. And  we  know  very  well  why  this  is  so.  It  is  because 
we  have  become  acutely  conscious  of  the  fact  that  when 
women  are  kept  under  a  perpetual  tutelage  they  cannot 
develop  their  full  possibilities  of  intelligence  and  character, 
and  hence  are  worth  less  to  themselves  as  well  as  to  their 
husbands  and  children.  We  see  too  that  as  a  matter  of  fact 
the  virtue  of  wifely  obedience,  while  in  the  abstract  it  still 
received  a  lip-homage,  had  lost  most  of  its  influence  in  the 
particular  issues  of  everyday  life.  It  did  not  go  far  toward 
assuring  a  man  the  mastery  of  his  household.  It  had,  indeed, 
the  baleful  influence  which  false  and  hollow  ideals  always 
have:  that  of  hindering  the  development  of  a  true,  living 
ideal  —  in  this  case  the  ideal  of  loyal  cooperation. 

The  Real  Basis  of  Obedience.  —  At  the  same  time,  let  it 
be  noted,  we  are  put  in  a  position  to  see  more  clearly  what 
the  real  significance  of  the  old  ideal  was.  Just  because  we 
do  not  accept  it  dogmatically,  we  can  distinguish  the  limits 
within  which  it  had  a  valid  basis.  Obedience  goes  with 
dependence  for  protection  and  support;  and  in  so  far  as 
that  relation  has  existed,  or  still  exists,  between  men  and 
women,  obedience  is  due.  That  is  why  the  thoroughgoing 
feminist  is  the  loudest  to  declare  that  the  wife  ought  not  to 
be  a  dependent;  that  all  the  obligations  of  husband  and 
wife  should  be  those  of  equal  partners  in  the  business  of  life. 
And  those  of  us  who  are  not  prepared  at  present  to  go  so  far 
as  this  —  those  of  us  who  say  that  now  and  for  an  indefinite 
period  to  come  the  vast  majority  of  women  must  continue 
to  be  dependent  upon  men  to  a  considerable  extent  —  say 
also  that  man's  responsibility  cannot  be  effective  without  a 
right  to  command.  Are  we,  then,  just  where  we  were  before  ? 
Not  by  any  means.  For  the  husband's  authority,  just 
because  it  is  put  upon  a  rational  ground,  extends  no  farther 
than  that  ground  extends.  If,  for  example,  as  in  many  circles 
of  society  is  still  the  case,  a  man  is  responsible  for  his  wife's 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      393 

honor  —  if  he  must  resent,  at  the  jeopardy  of  his  own  body, 
any  affront  that  is  put  upon  her  —  he  has  a  right  to  require 
her  to  refrain  from  any  conduct  which  he  may  deem  shame- 
ful. Since  she  is  not  her  own  protector  she  cannot  be  her 
own  judge.  But  that  does  not  give  him  the  right  to  dictate 
her  course  hi  obviously  innocent  affairs.  The  authority 
must  match  the  responsibility,  not  exceed  it.  Quite  simi- 
larly, if  he  is  the  wage-earner  of  the  family,  he  has  a  right 
to  forbid  what  he  may  deem  extravagance  in  expenditure. 
Otherwise  he  is  his  wife's  serf.  But  that  does  not  give  him 
the  right  to  demand  that  she  spend  nothing  without  his 
sanction.  Within  the  limits  of  economy  the  freedom  of 
choice  may  be  unrestrained.  And,  furthermore,  the  argu- 
ment works  both  ways.  In  so  far  as  the  husband  is  depend- 
ent upon  the  wife  —  hi  so  far  as  she  is  responsible  for  his 
comfort  and  well-being  —  she  has  a  right  to  demand  his 
acquiescence  with  her  wishes.  The  like  holds  of  their  re- 
lations to  the  children  whom  they  have  undertaken  to  bring 
up.  Any  special  responsibility  thrown  upon  one  parent 
lays  an  obligation  of  at  least  passive  conformity  upon  the 
other. 

Criticism  and  Appreciation.  —  Perhaps  this  example  will 
suffice  to  show  how,  as  the  shortcomings  of  any  feature  of 
the  accepted  moral  code  are  brought  to  light,  its  real  grounds 
are  also  disclosed ;  and  the  demand  for  change,  though  it 
may  at  first  be  a  mere  outcry  of  rebellion,  becomes  directed 
by  a  more  or  less  intelligent  appreciation  of  the  real  relations 
involved.  Our  tune  offers  many  such  examples,  and,  indeed, 
exhibits  them  in  striking  fashion  to  us,  as  contests  arise 
over  proposed  amendments  to  the  laws  of  the  land.  The 
divorce-problem,  the  limitation  of  property-rights,  the 
treatment  of  criminals  and  prostitutes,  all  involve  familiar 
moral  issues.  And  I  dare  say  that  if  we  were  to  consider 
any  one  of  these  issues  we  should  find  that  the  radicals  of 
to-day  have  a  better  appreciation  of  the  real  grounds  upon 


394     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

which  the  older  standards  rested  —  I  do  not  say,  than  the 
conservatives  of  to-day,  but  —  than  almost  any  one  had 
before  the  radical  agitation  began.  Even  as  Socrates,  in 
the  Apology,  declares  that  he  believes  in  the  gods  as  none  of 
his  accusers  do ;  so  it  often  happens  that  the  innovator  in 
morals  believes  in  the  established  code  far  more  deeply 
than  its  dogmatic  defenders.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
defenders  cannot  remain  dogmatic.  They  are  shocked  into 
reflection. 

Limits  of  Reflection.  —  In  saying  this,  we  must  not  forget 
what  we  lately  insisted  upon  at  such  length :  that  after  all 
possible  rationalization  of  moral  standards,  their  conven- 
tionality is  merely  pushed  back,  not  abolished.  Authority, 
we  said,  must  accompany  responsibility.  Ought  a  younger 
child  to  obey  an  older  one?  Only  if,  and  in  so  far  as,  the 
older  child  is  responsible  for  the  younger  child's  behavior. 
An  enlightened  doctrine,  is  it  not  ?  But  it  takes  for  granted 
the  conceptions  of  authority  and  responsibility;  it  takes  for 
granted  a  whole  social  structure  in  which  these  conceptions 
operate.  The  enlightenment  reaches  only  a  little  way  be- 
neath the  surface  of  things,  and  beneath  it  the  shadows 
reign  undisturbed. 

Increase  of  Plasticity.  —  Such  as  it  is,  however,  the  en- 
lightenment is  the  necessary  condition  of  a  reform  of  the 
conventional  standards.  It  arises  in  and  through  conflict, 
and  it  brings  about  a  new  readjustment.  The  blind  con- 
vention, so  long  as  it  remains  blind,  has  no  power  to  change 
itself.  The  state  of  enlightenment  is  the  state  of  instability 
of  convention.  The  more  deeply  rationalized  a  morality  is, 
the  greater  is  its  plasticity. 

VI.   THE  RISE  OF  DISCONTENT 

The  Attitude  of  Dogmatism.  —  Has  there  ever  been  a 
time  when  evils  incident  to  the  subjection  of  women  have 
not  been  evident?  Probably  not;  just  as  there  certainly 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      395 

never  was  a  time,  since  boats  were  first  used,  that  the  swamp- 
ing of  a  boat  has  not  been  a  perceptible  misfortune.  Why, 
then,  were  these  evident  evils  so  long  unable  to  modify  the 
conviction  that  women  ought  to  be  subject  to  their  husbands  ? 
For  the  same  reason  that  thousands  upon  thousands  of  boats 
may  be  swamped  without  impressing  men  with  the  fact 
that  the  type  of  boat  is  radically  faulty.  The  evils  are 
regarded  as  misfortunes.  One  husband  is  a  brute ;  another 
is  a  fool ;  another  is  an  idler ;  still  another  is  a  rogue.  So 
much  the  worse  for  the  poor  women !  Perhaps  they  ought 
to  have  known  better  than  to  have  married  such  men. 
Perhaps  their  youth  and  inexperience  absolve  them  from 
blame,  and  they  deserve  only  pity.  But  these  men  are  now 
their  husbands,  and  women  ought  to  obey  their  husbands. 

We  are  all  familiar  with  this  way  of  thinking,  because  we 
all  continue  to  follow  it  in  the  application  of  standards  which 
we  dogmatically  accept.  Perhaps,  for  example,  we  accept 
hi  this  way  the  command,  "  Thou  shalt  not  commit  adul- 
tery." Then  how  do  we  judge  the  case  of  George  Eliot? 
Lewes's  wife  was  living ;  and  though  she  had  been  unfaith- 
ful to  him,  he  was  unable  (because  he  had  once  forgiven  her) 
to  obtain  a  divorce.  Why  should  he  and  this  other  gifted 
woman  suffer  for  no  fault  of  their  own?  Why  should  they 
not  defy  convention  and  make  each  other  happy?  We 
answer  (let  us  say)  that  they  have  no  right  to  such  happiness. 
They  were  unfortunate,  to  be  sure;  and  so  are  thousands 
of  other  men  and  women,  who  show  their  courage  by  patiently 
enduring  their  misfortunes  without  thinking  of  violating 
the  moral  law. 

Its  Legitimacy.  —  So  far  as  it  goes,  this  way  of  thinking 
is  perfectly  sound.  If  a  given  moral  standard  is  accepted 
as  absolute,  then  any  evils  that  are  incidental  to  its  rigid 
application  are  misfortunes;  and  no  misfortune,  however 
great,  however  pitiful,  can  affect  the  eternal  standard.  It 
is  sound  thinking,  and  the  moral  conduct  which  it  controls 


396     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

is  indispensably  precious  to  us.  There  are  radicals  to  whom 
George  Eliot  is  a  glorious  heroine.  But  even  they  can  scarcely 
deny  that  the  thousands  of  men  and  women  who  have  buried 
their  love  and  gone  on  grimly  with  their  appointed  life  are 
not  to  be  despised. 

Limits  of  Foreign  Influence.  —  How,  then,  is  the  standard 
ever  brought  under  suspicion?  Sometimes  by  contrast 
with  foreign  standards  that  are  radically  different.  But 
the  suspicion  thus  engendered  is  likely  to  be  at  least  as  irra- 
tional as  the  dogmatism  which  it  disturbs.  The  observa- 
tion, that  standards  differ,  and  that  therefore  none  is  really 
authoritative,  simply  leaves  us  with  no  standard  at  all. 
The  common  effect  of  the  contact  of  two  moralities  —  as  in 
the  oriental  seaports  of  to-day — is  the  deterioration  of  both. 
This  is  not  to  deny  that  foreign  influence  may  be  important 
for  good.  It  may  be  highly  beneficial.  But  when  it  is  so, 
it  is  because  the  internal  conditions  have  become  such  as  to 
make  assimilation  of  the  foreign  ideals  possible.  Similar 
observations  are  made  in  the  field  of  art.  The  English  litera- 
ture of  the  Elizabethan  age  shows  a  strong  Italian,  and  then 
a  Spanish  influence ;  while  the  literature  of  the  Restoration 
period  is  even  more  strongly  marked  by  French  influence. 
But  why  ?  The  real  question  is :  What  difference  had  come 
over  England,  that  in  the  later  period  it  found  its  inspira- 
tion in  French,  rather  than  in  Spanish  or  Italian  sources? 
Even  so,  when  the  revival  of  letters  is  attributed  to  the 
recovery  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics,  we  should  ask : 
What  change  had  come  over  men,  that  their  hearts  were 
now  open  to  the  beauty  and  power  of  the  classics  ?  Petrarch, 
you  say,  ransacked  the  monasteries  of  Italy  for  their  for- 
gotten literary  treasures.  But  why  were  men  like  Petrarch 
and  those  who  so  eagerly  greeted  his  discoveries  produced 
at  that  time  ?  The  truth  is,  the  explanation  of  social  move- 
ments, whether  ethical,  artistic,  political,  or  religious,  in 
terms  simply  of  external  influence  is  almost  always  shallow. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      397 

What,  it  may  be  asked,  of  Japan's  rapid  appropriation  of 
European  civilization?  But  why  Japan,  rather  than  Korea 
or  China?  The  deeper  reasons  lie  within. 

Inner  Causes  of  Change.  —  So  we  are  driven  back  upon 
our  former  question :  If  the  misfortunes  incident  to  the 
dogmatic  acceptance  of  a  moral  standard  are  not  sufficient 
to  call  it  into  serious  question,  how  is  this  ever  brought 
about?  The  answer  lies  in  the  fact  that  what  have  been 
regarded  as  incidental  misfortunes  may  cease  to  be  so  re- 
garded. If,  under  altered  social  conditions,  their  frequency 
greatly  increases;  and  especially  if,  among  the  increased 
evils,  there  are  some  of  a  new  and  deep  seriousness,  depend- 
ing upon  a  sensitiveness  to  hitherto  unfelt  aspirations  and 
a  conception  of  hitherto  unformulated  standards  of  happi- 
ness, so  that  they  become  a  matter  of  vital  public  concern ; 
then  they  present  themselves  as  consequences  of  the  moral 
standard  itself,  and  hence  as  constituting  a  defect  in  it.  The 
case  is  again  like  that  of  the  dug-out.  So  long  as  swamping 
is  rare,  it  may  be,  and  is,  set  down  to  bad  luck.  But  when 
the  conditions  of  boating  have  so  changed,  that  the  possi- 
bility of  the  swamping  of  boats  is  felt  as  a  real  menace  to 
the  general  welfare,  the  dogmatic  faith  in  the  type  of  boat 
is  shaken.  Something  is  the  matter,  though  the  boatman 
knows  not  what,  and  he  is  open  to  suggestions  of  improve- 
ment —  if  these  be  not  too  radical.  So  with  the  wife's  duty 
of  obedience.  Many  women  may  be  made  miserable,  and 
the  duty  still  hold.  Anything,  everything  except  the  stand- 
ard itself  is  blamed.  But  let  the  frequency  of  these  evils 
greatly  increase,  and  —  as  the  greater  frequency  probably 
indicates  —  let  them  be  felt  as  an  impediment  upon  newly 
developed  ideals  of  life,  so  that  they  constitute  a  standing 
menace  to  happiness ;  then  the  moral  standard  itself  becomes 
chargeable  with  them,  and  society  is  ready  for  some  change. 

Conservatism.  —  We  do  not  mean  by  this  that  change 
comes  quickly  and  easily.  On  the  contrary,  any  amendment 


398   INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

that  may  be  suggested  is  bound  to  meet  with  resentful  pro- 
test. Though  the  standard  be  felt  to  be  imperfect,  anything 
else  is  very  likely  worse.  The  evils  which  the  standard 
entails  are  not  infinite.  After  all,  society  has  endured  them 
thus  far;  so  why  not  farther?  But  the  suggested  change 
invokes  horrid  images  of  all  manner  of  ill-defined  evils.  If 
wives  do  not  obey  their  husbands,  what  will  society  come  to  ? 
And  the  protest  has  generally  a  good  deal  of  sound  sense 
on  its  side.  Reforms,  in  morals  as  elsewhere,  almost  never 
work  out  as  their  early  advocates  expect.  It  takes  time  and 
many  failures  to  achieve  success.  Well  is  it,  therefore,  for 
society,  that  the  old  standards  are  not  easily  given  up,  that 
a  storm  of  protest  arises  when  they  are  assailed. 

The  Two  Parties.  —  Every  phase  of  moral  evolution  thus 
brings  about,  and  depends  upon,  a  division  of  society  into 
its  conservative  and  radical  elements.  To  the  conservative, 
the  radical  is  an  essentially  unsound  man,  who  neglects 
obvious  truths  in  favor  of  vain,  deluding  theories.  To  the 
radical,  the  conservative  is  one  who  is  essentially  stupid 
or  blinded  by  selfish  prejudice,  so  that  he  is  unable  to  follow 
the  guidance  of  reason.  As  between  the  two,  the  sympathy 
of  the  student  is  naturally  on  the  side  of  the  radical.  There 
must  be  conservatives ;  but,  then,  we  may  rest  assured  that 
there  always  will  be ;  so  that  it  is  the  champions  of  reason 
for  whom  we  feel  a  real  need.  But  when  we  are  inclined  to 
charge  a  great  part  of  our  fellow-men  with  stupidity,  it  is 
well  for  us  to  remember  the  words  of  a  certain  wise  Ameri- 
can :  "  Let  us  be  thankful  for  the  fools.  But  for  them  the 
rest  of  us  could  not  survive." 

VII.   DUTY  AND  BENEVOLENCE  IN  EVOLUTION 

Modification  of  Duty  by  Benevolence.  —  As  we  remarked 
upon  an  earlier  page,  the  standards  of  benevolence,  as  well 
as  those  of  duty  and  virtue,  are  always  in  some  degree  con- 
ventional, both  because  the  direction  of  benevolence  is  fixed 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      399 

by  duty,  and  because  the  goods  conferred  by  the  benevolent 
are  themselves  of  necessity  more  or  less  conventional.  But 
to  say  this  is  virtually  to  confess  that  benevolent  conduct 
is  conventional  only  in  so  far  as  its  character  is  given  to  it  by 
other  than  benevolent  motives.  And  now,  as  we  reflect 
upon  the  account  which  has  just  been  given  of  the  develop- 
ment of  moral  standards,  we  see  that  the  development  con- 
sists in  a  continual  remolding  of  the  standards  of  duty  in 
conformity  with  the  requirements  of  benevolence. 

Morality  not  Reducible  to  Benevolence.  —  It  is  in  this 
sense  that  charity  may  be  said  to  constitute  the  whole  of 
the  law.  Viewed  as  an  analytical  matter  of  fact,  this  simply 
cannot  pass  muster.  As  the  hard-headed  Bishop  Butler 
pointed  out,  it  is  evident  in  the  case  of  some  of  the  most 
monstrous  acts  of  injustice,  such  as  treason,  that  we  cannot 
resolve  our  condemnation  of  them  into  regard  for  the  welfare 
of  any  body  of  men.  We  hate  and  despise  such  acts  with  a 
naive  spontaneity  that  does  not  wait  for  the  weighing  of 
consequences.  And,  as  the  worthy  bishop  further  remarked, 
it  is  well  for  us  that  all  our  morality  is  not  exhausted  in  be- 
nevolent impulses.  We  have  not  brains  enough  to  play  the 
part  of  Providence.  At  every  turn  of  life  we  need  external 
guidance,  the  guidance  of  a  rule  suited  to  the  limitations  of 
our  capacities.  If,  in  disregard  of  convention,  we  should 
attempt  to  shape  our  conduct  by  what  we  conceive  to  be 
the  greatest  good  of  men,  we  should  be  perpetually  bringing 
about  the  most  serious  evils.  Our  vision  is  limited  at  its 
best,  and  it  is  seldom  at  its  best.  At  one  time  we  are  blind 
to  possibilities  which  at  another  time  would  absorb  our 
whole  attention.  A  pure  benevolence,  if  it  could  exist, 
would  doubtless  look  very  much  like  madness. 

Benevolence  the  Shaping  Power. — Analytically  considered, 
the  reduction  of  morality  to  benevolence  is  thus  palpably 
unsound.  But  from  the  genetic  standpoint  it  is  plain  and 
simple  truth.  Our  deepest  moral  convictions  have  a  his- 


400     INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

tory ;  and  that  history  is  what  men's  struggles  for  the  com- 
mon welfare  have  made  it.  Benevolence,  though  not  the 
whole  of  morality,  is  its  essential  raison  d'dtre. 

Benevolence  not  Earlier  than  Justice.  —  This  is  not  to 
say  that  in  the  order  of  time  benevolence  came  first  and  jus- 
tice afterwards.  If  only  from  the  intimate  relation  in  which 
they  stand  to-day,  we  know  that  this  is  not  possible.  Nat- 
ural affection  is,  no  doubt,  older  than  justice;  but  so  is 
natural  aversion  to  the  abnormal  older  than  benevolence. 
Both  benevolence  and  justice  spring  from  sources  that  are 
older  than  humanity;  and  they  have  developed  together, 
with  constant  interaction.  As  we  noted  in  an  earlier  chapter, 
benevolence  is  directed,  not  simply  toward  individuals,  but 
toward  institutions  and  toward  abstract  causes;  and  even 
when  it  is  directed  toward  individuals,  these  often  owe 
their  selection  to  the  fact  that  they  stand  for  institutions 
or  causes.  But  the  institution,  though  it  must  have  its 
roots  in  human  instincts,  is  not,  as  it  stands,  a  '  natural ' 
phenomenon  —  not  even  of  the  family  can  that  be  truly 
said.  It  is  an  expression  of  sentiments  of  justice.  And 
this  is  obviously  true  of  the  cause.  Hence,  rather  than 
claim  that  benevolence,  as  such,  is  prior  to  justice,  we  should 
prefer  the  paradox,  that  justice  is  the  raison  d'etre  of  benevo- 
lence. For  the  ends  of  all  benevolence  are  at  least  based 
upon  justice;  and  many  of  the  noblest  and  most  devoted 
benefactors  of  humanity  would  say  that  all  that  they  were 
striving  for  was  what  simple  justice  required. 

Justice  the  Basis  of  Benevolence.  —  Moral  reform,  there- 
fore, is  by  no  means  so  simple  a  matter  as  the  reformer  is 
apt  to  conceive  it.  The  problem  is  not  to  make  new  laws 
for  a  new  race  in  a  new  world.  The  reform  can  only  pro- 
ceed upon  the  basis  of  justice  as  it  is ;  and  if  the  foundation 
is  disturbed  at  one  point,  we  must  lean  the  more  heavily 
upon  the  remainder.  We  wish,  let  us  say,  to  make  men 
happy,  as  happy  as  possible.  But,  then,  it  is  men  who  are 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      401 

to  be  made  happy,  not  two-legged  animals;  and  what  it 
is  that  can  make  them  happy  is  determined,  not  simply  by 
their  instinctive  traits,  but  by  complex  bodies  of  sentiments 
that  have  grown  up  during  hundreds  of  centuries.  And, 
furthermore,  the  very  existence  and  perpetuation  of  those 
sentiments  —  the  very  possibility  of  man's  being  happy, 
except  as  the  orang-outang  may  be  happy  —  depends  on  the 
system  of  justice.  If  this  seems  like  an  over-statement,  we 
have  only  to  apply  it  to  a  few  concrete  instances  to  make  it 
seem  like  a  paltry  truism. 

Conclusion.  —  The  relation  between  benevolence  and  jus- 
tice is  thus  a  type  of  the  general  relation  between  progress 
and  conservatism.  All  that  is  conserved  has  been  won 
by  former  progress;  and  every  movement  that  is  made 
depends  for  its  possibility  upon  the  conservation  of  past 
results. 

But,  paradoxes  aside,  why  cannot  we  say  (1)  that  the  real 
purpose  of  all  morality  is  the  welfare  of  mankind,  and  (2) 
that  benevolence  is  simply  morality  that  has  become  con- 
scious of  its  purpose,  directly  intending  that  to  which  all 
morality  tends?  If  by  '  real  purpose  '  is  meant  '  function/ 
we  have  already  committed  ourselves  to  the  first  proposition 
(in  the  chapters  on  the  significance  of  morality  in  society  and 
in  the  individual) ;  and  we  are  ready  to  admit  the  truth 
of  the  second,  provided  it  be  understood  as  a  matter  of 
degree.  No  morality  is  entirely  self-conscious.  Nothing 
human  is.  But  in  proportion  as  morality  becomes  self- 
conscious,  the  more  is  its  abstract,  impersonal  justice  quali- 
fied by  human  charity. 

VIII.  THE  PROGRESS  OF  BENEVOLENCE 
Convention   subordinated  to   Benevolence.  —  This  leads 
us  to  repeat  with  emphasis  what  we  have  already  noted  in 
passing:    that  the  evolution  of  morality  is  not  merely  a 
transition  from  one  convention  to  another,  mediated  by 
2o 


402    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

sentiments  of  benevolence.  It  is  marked  by  an  increased 
self-consciousness,  an  increased  subordination  of  mere  con- 
vention to  benevolence ;  hence,  also,  by  an  increased  plastic- 
ity of  convention,  and  by  a  greater  and  greater  rapidity  of 
movement. 

The  contrast  between  the  old  and  the  new  is  well  brought  out 
when  we  consider  the  inflexibility  of  military  justice,  which, 
for  various  reasons,  has  been  retarded  in  its  development, 
and  set  against  it  the  action  of  Abraham  Lincoln  in  pardoning 
man  after  man  who  had  been  guilty  of  sleeping  at  his  post, 
or  even  of  deserting  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy.  Lin- 
coln, of  course,  was  a  civilian,  and  thus  naturally  far  less 
subservient  to  the  military  tradition  than  his  generals  could 
be.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  the  army  with  which  he  was 
dealing  was  —  as  he  clearly  saw  —  different  from  the  armies 
in  which  the  military  tradition  had  grown  up  and  persisted. 
It  was  made  up  of  free,  intelligent  volunteers,  who,  even 
though  the  rules  were  broken,  and  broken  repeatedly,  would 
still  appreciate  their  significance  and  respect  them  accord- 
ingly —  men  who  were  guided,  not  by  laws  alone,  but  by 
free  ideals  of  human  welfare. 

Why  does  not  Benevolence  become  Superfluous? — It 
may  be  asked  why  this  is  so :  why,  as  the  conventions  of 
justice  are  modified  to  accord  with  the  demands  of  benevo- 
lence, conscious  benevolence  does  not  fall  into  abeyance. 
Indeed,  have  we  not  already  admitted  that  this  does  happen? 
How,  then,  is  a  progressive  increase  of  benevolence  possible  ? 

An  Analogous  Question.  —  Let  us  match  this  question 
with  another.  Men  think,  when  they  have  questions  to 
solve.  When  a  problem  is  fairly  solved,  a  certain  amount  of 
thinking  becomes  superfluous.  How  is  it,  then,  that  as 
problem  after  problem  is  solved  we  find  men  thinking  not 
less  but  more?  Obviously,  because  there  is  no  fixed  fund 
of  problems  to  be  solved,  which  can  gradually  be  exhausted 
till  none  are  left  for  us  to  think  about.  Every  advance  of 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      403 

human  knowledge  opens  up  new  fields  of  investigation,  gives 
us  more  and  more  to  think  about.  The  most  learned  man 
has  not  fewer  questions  to  ask  than  the  most  ignorant — quite 
the  reverse.  The  great  men  in  the  history  of  science  are 
signalized,  not  only  by  the  discoveries  they  have  made, 
but  also,  and  perhaps  more  importantly,  by  the  problems 
they  have  raised. 

Justice  does  replace  Benevolence.  —  Similarly,  there  is 
no  fixed  sum  of  human  goods  to  be  achieved.  If  there  were, 
one  might  with  some  cogency  argue  that  as  more  and  more 
was  secured  by  the  regulations  of  justice,  less  and  less  would 
be  left  to  the  direct  action  of  benevolence.  Thus,  for  ex- 
ample, in  lands  where  a  man  has  a  right  to  marry  several  wives, 
he  may,  out  of  a  pure  regard  for  the  happiness  of  the  first 
wife,  refrain  from  marrying  a  second.  But  with  us  any  such 
benevolence  has  become  superfluous.  The  wife  can  claim 
her  exclusive  relations  with  her  husband  as  a  right.  Turn- 
ing toward  the  future,  we  note  that  one  of  the  great  promises 
of  the  socialists  is  that  their  scheme  of  society  will  eliminate 
not  only  the  necessity  but  even  the  possibility  of  a  vast 
amount  of  benevolence.  Socialism,  they  declare,  will  give 
men  as  their  right  well-nigh  all  that  private  charity  can  now 
bestow.  We,  of  course,  do  not  care  in  this  discussion  whether 
the  claim  of  the  socialists  is  well  founded  or  not.  We  are 
interested  only  in  the  nature  of  the  claim  as  such.  For  this 
once  more  illustrates  the  truth,  of  which  we  wish  to  take 
account :  that  one  essential  aspect  of  the  progress  of 
humanity  consists  hi  the  substitution  of  justice  for  benevo- 
lence. 

Infinite  Possible  Scope  of  Benevolence.  —  Why,  then, 
is  the  scope  of  benevolence  not  restricted?  Simply  because 
there  is  no  fixed  maximum  of  good  that  benevolence  can 
bestow.  The  more  men  possess,  the  more  they  can  and  do 
aspire  unto;  and  the  more,  therefore,  the  well-wishers  of 
humanity  can  desire  for  them.  The  wife,  we  said,  has  now 


404    INTRODUCTION  TO   THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

a  claim  upon  the  fidelity  of  the  husband.  But  the  actual 
scope  for  personal  consideration  on  the  husband's  part  has 
not  been  lessened.  Isaac,  according  to  the  Bible  story,  loved 
his  wife  Rebecca,  and  took  no  other  beside  her.  The  modern 
man  cannot  show  his  love  for  his  wife  in  just  that  way.  But 
there  are  a  thousand  others  in  its  place.  The  happiness 
of  a  wife  means  vastly  more,  it  contains  an  almost  infinitely 
more  complex  content  than  Rebecca  dreamed  of.  And, 
no  doubt,  we  can  predict  as  much  with  reference  to  the  so- 
cialist's ideal  state:  that  if  all  he  previsages  should  indeed 
come  to  pass,  there  would  in  consequence  be  not  less  room 
for  kindness  and  devotion,  but  immeasurably  more. 

IX.   RELATION  OP  VIRTUE  TO  DUTY  AND  BENEVOLENCE 

How  the  Evolution  of  Virtue  is  Determined.  —  It  is  not 
necessary  for  us  to  undertake  a  special  study  of  the  evolution 
of  ideals  of  virtue.  For  since,  as  we  have  seen,  these  ideals 
are  simply  the  standards  of  duty  and  of  benevolence  seen 
under  a  new  aspect,  —  as  a  directly  appreciable  possession 
of  the  virtuous  man,  instead  of  as  conformity  to  an  external 
standard,  or  as  the  neglect  of  one's  own  good  for  another's,  — 
it  is  clear  that  the  evolution  of  virtue  follows  closely  that 
of  duty  and  benevolence.  When  a  given  type  of  conduct 
is  regarded  as  obligatory  or  as  benevolent,  the  type  of 
character  that  can  be  counted  upon  to  display  such  conduct 
is  regarded  as  in  so  far  virtuous ;  and  courage,  temperance, 
and  wisdom  take  their  direction  accordingly. 

Virtue  as  a  Higher  Stage  of  Morality.  —  In  an  earlier 
chapter  we  noted  that,  for  the  morality  of  virtue,  conduct 
that  is  marked  by  a  keen  sense  of  obligation  or  of  personal 
loss  is  of  comparatively  little  significance.  What  this  moral- 
ity emphasizes  is  a  sure  insight  and  an  unhesitating  decision. 
From  this  point  of  view,  the  morality  of  virtue  may  be  re- 
garded as  constituting  a  higher  stage  in  individual  or  social 
evolution.  Morality  that  is  but  half-won  and  not  yet  firmly 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  MORAL  STANDARDS      405 

established  appears  as  duty  or  as  self-sacrifice;  but  as  a 
thoroughly  secure  possession  it  is  virtue,  the  free  self-expres- 
sion of  the  agent's  character. 

Are  Duty  and  Benevolence  Superfluous?  —  During  the 
latter  part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the  theory  was  fre- 
quently advanced,  that  obligation  and  self-denial  are  wholly 
unnecessary  for  morality,  and,  indeed,  that  they  belong  only 
to  a  low,  or  false,  type  of  morality.  A  higher  type  would 
consist  simply  hi  self-assertion.  Nietzsche  and  Guyau  are 
the  chief  representatives  of  this  way  of  thinking.  The 
former  regards  the  Christian  morality  about  him  as  essen- 
tially a  slave-morality,  a  conspiracy  of  the  under  dogs  to 
mitigate  their  wretchedness  and,  if  possible,  hold  in  check 
the  tyranny  of  their  oppressors.  This  is  well  enough  for 
them ;  but  for  their  masters,  the  aristocracy  of  art,  science, 
and  war,  unscrupulous  egoism  is  the  only  sane  principle  of 
life.1  Guyau's  theory  is  less  sensational.  The  true  end  of 
life,  he  declares,  is  the  limitless  expansion  of  life  itself ;  and 
the  only  motive  which  it  needs  is  its  own  inherent  energy. 
The  sense  of  compulsion,  like  the  need  of  external  rewards 
and  punishments,  is  a  mark  of  weakness.  The  strong  will 
do  what  is  good  just  because  they  are  strong. 

According  to  our  principles  all  such  theories  must  be  set 
down  as  fundamentally  in  error.  The  virtues  owe  their 
whole  content  to  men's  experience  of  duty  and  self-sacrifice. 
The  abstract  individual  has  no  character  to  assert — nothing 
more  than  the  impulses  of  "  the  ape  and  the  tiger."  The 
necessary  consequence  of  Nietzsche's  program  or  Guyau's 
would  be,  first,  an  arrest  of  development,  and  then  disinte- 
gration. For  if  (as  we  have  said)  present  virtue  may  be 
regarded  as  the  higher  product  of  past  duty  and  benevo- 
lence, it  is  equally  true  that  the  duty  and  benevolence  of 
to-day  represent  the  beginnings  of  the  higher  virtue  of 
to-morrow. 

1  Compare  the  sophistic  theory  outlined  on  pp.  110-111. 


406    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Moral  Progress  has  no  Visible  Limits.  —  Fortunately 
we  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  moral  progress  is  fated  to 
bring  itself  to  naught.  As  old  duties  lose  their  oppressive- 
ness, we  acquire  new  ones,  which  may  be  no  less  oppressive 
than  the  old.  As  our  selves  expand  so  as  to  take  in  the  ob- 
jects of  our  former  sacrifices,  so  the  sphere  of  our  benevo- 
lence expands  to  take  in  more  and  more  that  was  formerly 
indifferent  to  us.  If  there  is  any  limit  to  the  process,  it  lies 
beyond  the  present  horizon  of  science. 


REFERENCES 

GREEN,  T.  H.,  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  III,  Chs.  III-V. 

STEPHEN,  L.,  Science  of  Ethics,  especially  Ch.  II,  Sect.  IV;  Ch.  Ill, 
Sects.  I,  II;  Ch.  IV,  Sects.  I,  II,  V. 

ALEXANDER,  S.,  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  Book  III. 

WUNDT,  W.,  Ethics,  Part  I,  The  Facts  of  the  Moral  Life.  (An 
account  of  the  non-moral  conditions  of  moral  development.) 

TAYLOR,  A.  E.,  Problem  of  Conduct,  Ch.  V. 

HOBHOUSE,  L.  T.,  Morals  in  Evolution,  especially  Part  I,  Ch.  I,  and 
Part  II,  Ch.  VIII. 

Ross,  E.  A.,  Social  Control,  Part  II,  Chs.  XXV,  XXVI. 

TUFTS,  J.,  On  Moral  Evolution,  in  Studies  in  Philosophy  and  Psy- 
chology by  Former  Students  of  Charles  Edward  Gorman. 

MEZES,  S.,  Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  Ch.  VIII. 

SETH,  J.,  Study  of  Ethical  Principles,  Part  II,  Ch.  III. 

MACKENZIE,  J.  S.,  Manual  of  Ethics,  Book  III,  Ch.  VII. 

MUIRHEAD,  J.  H.,  Elements  of  Ethics,  Book  V. 


CONCLUSION 

Relation  of  the  Foregoing  Theory  (l)  to  Hedonism.  —  It 

scarcely  needs  to  be  pointed  out  that  the  evolutionary  theory 
of  values  in  general  and  of  moral  values  in  particular,  which 
has  been  set  forth  in  the  preceding  chapters,  is  an  energism. 
It  has,  to  be  sure,  its  bonds  of  sympathy  with  the  rival 
classical  theories  of  hedonism  and  rigorism.  It  is  allied  to 
hedonism,  because,  while  it  does  not  regard  pleasure  and 
pain  as  absolute  value  (positive  and  negative),  it  does  re- 
gard them  as  the  ultimately  shaping  influences  to  which  the 
development  of  standards  of  value  is  due.  It  differs  from 
hedonism  in  its  insistence  upon  the  complexity  of  the  system 
of  values  —  in  its  rejection  of  the  assumption  that  such  a 
system  can  be  reduced  to  terms  of  more  or  less  of  a  single 
pair  of  qualities. 

(2)  To  Rigorism.  —  On  the  other  hand,  evolutionary 
ethics  finds  itself  foreshadowed,  though  only  vaguely,  in 
the  stoic  theory  of  the  genetic  relationship  between  moral 
values  and  the  lower  kinds  of  value,  with  their  ultimate 
dependence  upon  the  instincts  of  the  human  species ;  more 
clearly  hi  the  stoic  insistence  upon  the  social  nature  of  man, 
as  affecting  not  only  his  lower,  but  also  his  very  highest 
functions.  But  we  find  ourselves  repelled  to-day  by  the 
conception  of  the  evolution  as  a  finished  process.  We  see 
no  '  sages  '  in  the  world.  To  us,  the  shallowest  of  all  dis- 
tinctions is  that  between  good  men  and  bad.  And  that 
universal  society  of  rational  beings,  in  which  the  stoic  thought 
to  move,  and  by  whose  life  he  felt  his  own  life  to  be  continu- 
ally sustained  —  that  society  is,  for  us,  in  the  making. 
Again,  we  feel  that  the  stoic  does  virtue  no  true  honor  hi 

407 


408    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

separating  it,  so  soon  as  it  exists,  from  the  other  values  of 
human  life,  as  if  it  alone  made  up  all  possible  happiness. 
For  his  position  quickly  reduces  to  a  mere  verbalism.  "  The 
good  man,  though  on  the  rack,  is  happy."  Why?  Because 
it  is  no  fault  of  his  that  he  is  there !  This  is  simply  playing 
with  words.  It  is  true  that  a  good  man  may  be  happy 
though  on  the  rack.  For  he  has  great  resources.  At  any 
rate,  he  is  far  more  likely  to  be  happy  there  than  a  coward 
or  a  libertine.  A  good  man  might  conceivably  be  happy 
even  if  his  wife  or  child  were  on  the  rack  —  though  there, 
it  is  to  be  confessed,  a  bad  man  would  very  likely  have  the 
advantage  of  him.  But,  indeed,  from  our  point  of  view, 
the  man  that  is  always  happy  is  as  unreal  and  idle  an  abstrac- 
tion as  the  absolutely  good  man.  If  he  could  be  found,  we 
should  not  greatly  admire  him.  Under  the  actual  conditions 
of  human  life,  to  be  always  happy  is  to  be  less  than  a  man. 

(3)  To  the  Ancient  Energism.  —  Our  theory,  then,  is  an 
energism.  According  to  us,  happiness  is  a  value  belonging 
to  a  condition  of  life  as  a  whole.  Our  quarrel  with  the  ancient 
energists  rests  upon  the  fact  that  we  no  longer  conceive  of 
life  as  the  activity  of  a  certain  given  set  of  faculties.  We 
know  too  well  that  all  the  activities  of  civilized  men  are 
the  content  of  an  ever  varying  tradition ;  that  human  nature, 
as  heredity  leaves  it,  is  capable  of  all  manner  of  different 
modes  of  development  and  of  all  manner  of  different  modes 
of  happiness.  What  happiness  is  for  any  man  depends 
upon  the  man;  and  the  man  is  the  child  of  his  time  and 
place.  The  ancient  formulas,  according  to  which  one  kind 
of  activity  —  that  of  contemplation  of  eternal  truths  — 
is  superior  to  all  others,  appears  to  us,  not  only  as  false,  but 
as  grotesque.  We  do  not  think  in  such  terms. 
F  (4)  To  the  Modern  Energism.  — The  modern  energists, 
on  the  other  hand, — Fichte  and  Hegel  and  their  English- 
speaking  followers,  —  are  an  inspiration  and  a  challenge 
to  us.  They  inspire  us  by  reason  of  the  conception  of  social 


CONCLUSION  409 

solidarity  which  they  set  before  us.  The  idea  of  the  function 
of  morality  as  the  basis  of  organized  unity  in  both  social 
and  individual  life  is  theirs.  The  idea  of  historical  continu- 
ity is  theirs.  But  these  conceptions,  as  they  present  them, 
are  to  our  mind  an  assemblage  of  problems  rather  than  of 
solutions.  These  men  saw  far  and  saw  profoundly.  But 
we  now  feel  it  incumbent  upon  us  to  reinterpret  their  specu- 
lative vision  in  such  terms  as  are  afforded  by  a  plain,  work- 
aday empirical  method.  And  in  doing  this  we  must,  no 
doubt,  reconstruct  as  well  as  interpret,  if  only  because  within 
the  limits  of  our  method  much  that  to  them  seemed  crystal- 
clear  is  left  as  tentative.  We  cannot  pretend  to  explain 
the  world  by  reference  to  a  metaphysical  reality  underlying 
and  determining  it.  For  us,  there  is  nothing  truer  than 
history. 

(6)  To  Utilitarianism.  —  As  between  the  English  classical 
schools  our  allegiance  is  even  more  divided.  We  know  noth- 
ing of  moral  axioms,  or  of  an  innate  moral  sense,  or  of  a 
hedonistic  calculus.  But,  to  speak  first  of  utilitarianism, 
we  sympathize  with  it  as  a  genuine  and  courageous  attempt 
to  explain  the  development  of  the  moral  individual.  Espe- 
cially in  the  form  which  it  owes  to  John  Stuart  Mill,  it  strikes 
us  as  being  the  direct  forerunner  of  the  scientific  ethics  of 
to-day.  To  the  last,  however,  utilitarianism  remains  indi- 
vidualistic and  mechanical,  a  characteristically  eighteenth- 
century  product.  The  association,  shuffling,  and  dropping- 
out  of  conscious  elements  remain  its  whole  machinery  of 
explanation.  Social  -  psychology  is  almost  unattempted. 
The  nature  of  the  sentiments  and  the  manner  of  their  commu- 
nication is  most  superficially  studied.  The  conception  of 
historical  continuity  is  practically  unknown.  These  things 
we  owe  to  other  sources. 

(6)  To  Intuitionalism  and  Sentimentalism.  —  As  between 
the  rival  nativistic  schools,  the  intuitionalists  and  the  sen- 
timentalists, we  have  to  thank  each  for  upholding  an  impor- 


410    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

tant  fraction  of  the  truth.  The  sentimentalists  have  to  their 
credit  a  worthy  service,  in  insisting  upon  the  affective  basis 
of  valuation.  The  accusation  of  their  enemies,  that  they 
humanized  morality,  does  not  now  seem  to  us  a  damaging 
one.  On  the  other  hand,  the  rationalists  are  abundantly 
justified  in  maintaining  that  to  judge  an  action  to  be  right 
or  wrong  is  not  simply  to  feel  a  peculiar  emotional  thrill. 
The  rationality  of  moral  judgment  is  not  a  superficial  after- 
development.  It  belongs  to  its  essential  nature.  There  is 
no  valuation,  much  less  moral  valuation,  without  stable 
concepts. 

Is  Morality  Immutable  or  in  Evolution?  —  There  remains, 
of  course,  the  fact  that  for  the  ethicists  of  the  eighteenth 
century  morality  is  '  eternal  and  immutable/  while  for  us 
it  is  in  process  of  evolution.  The  difference,  however,  is 
far  less  from  our  point  of  view  than  from  theirs.  From  their 
point  of  view  we  have  simply  given  ourselves  up  to  anarchy. 
But,  as  we  see  the  matter,  their  position  is  a  fair  '  first  approxi- 
mation '  to  the  truth.  It  is,  at  any  rate,  far  nearer  the  truth 
than  the  skeptical  position,  that  morality  is  whatever  con- 
vention makes  it. 

The  Preevolutionary  Standpoint.  —  The  contrast  be- 
tween the  ethics  of  to-day  and  that  of  the  eighteenth  century 
is,  in  fact,  typical  of  the  relations  between  our  science  and 
theirs.  Men  had  not  yet  learned  to  think  in  evolutionistic 
terms.  And  so  long  as  they  were  limited  to  a  choice  between 
eternity  and  immutability  on  the  one  hand,  and  capricious 
change  on  the  other,  they  were  generally  right  in  choosing 
the  former  alternative.  When,  for  example,  it  was  sug- 
gested that  once  upon  a  time  man  went  on  all  fours,  the 
sober  science  of  1750  could  not  do  otherwise  than  reject  the 
theory  as  ridiculous.  The  manner  in  which  the  head  is 
joined  to  the  body ;  the  disproportionate  length  of  the  legs 
as  compared  with  the  arms ;  the  structure  of  the  feet  and 
ankles;  these  and  a  host  of  other  considerations  made  it 


CONCLUSION  411 

reasonably  certain  that  man  had  always  been  a  biped. 
Shall  we  nevertheless  say  that  this  was  a  mistake?  If  we 
do,  our  judgment  is  a  shallow  one.  It  is  true  that  in  the 
dim  geological  past  our  ancestors  were  quadrupeds;  and 
this  the  eighteenth  century  did  not  know.  But  the  modi- 
fication that  has  taken  place  has  been  no  superficial  change 
of  habit,  but  a  continuous  and  profound  evolution  of  the 
human  organism. 

The  Classical  Theory  Right  in  the  Main.  —  Quite  similar 
must  be  our  attitude  toward  the  classic  theory  of  the  im- 
mutability of  moral  standards.  When  readers  of  ancient 
and  modern  literature  declared  that  the  standards  of  morality 
varied  without  limit  and  without  reason  from  age  to  age, 
it  was  proper  enough  for  the  ethicist  to  reply :  "  The  original 
principles  of  praise  and  blame  are  uniform. "  From  our 
present  standpoint  we  can,  indeed,  see  that  this  will  not 
strictly  hold :  that  if  the  original  principles  of  morals  appear 
to  be  uniform,  it  is  partly  because  the  terms  in  which  they 
are  stated  are  themselves  shifting  in  their  significance.  But, 
for  all  that,  the  position  was  right  in  the  main  —  as  nearly 
right  as  was  possible  with  the  conceptions  of  society  and  of 
history  that  were  then  current. 

Identity  in  Change.  —  A  real  evolution  is  more  than 
change.  It  involves  an  identity  persistent  through  change. 
We  began  this  study  by  quoting  some  passages  illustrative 
of  different  types  of  morality,  the  first  two  of  which  have 
come  down  to  us  from  proto-historic  times.  Let  us  glance 
back  at  them  in  closing,  and  feel  once  more  how,  after  the  lapse 
of  centuries,  we  are  still  of  the  same  fiber  as  the  patriarchs : 
"  How  shall  I  go  up  to  my  father,  if  the  lad  be  not  with  me  ?  " 
—  "I  have  opened  my  mouth  unto  Jehovah,  and  I  cannot 
go  back." 


INDEX 


Absolute  values,  206  f.,  272  &.,  347 

ff. 

Animals,  judgments  on,  27  f. 
Anniceris,  125  n. 
Antisthenes,  123,  133,  158  ff. 
Aristippus,  123,  124  ff.,  128  n.,  133. 
Aristotle,  4  n.,  8,  14,  15,  29,  43,  61, 

102  n.,  113,  132  f.,  144  ff.,  265, 

266. 

Bacon,  13,  390. 

Beauty,    relation    to    goodness,  8f., 

114,  143,  208  ff.,  222  f. 
Benevolence,  80  ff.,  398  ff. 

contains    all    morality    (?),    193, 
218  f.,  399. 

conventionality  in,  388  f . 

grades  of,  82. 

relation  to  duty,  81,  83,  398  ff. 

universalized,  85  ff. 
Bentham,  200. 
Butler,  200,  218  f.,  275,  399. 

Cambridge  Platonists,  177,  189  f. 

Character,  24  ff.,  298  ff. 

Clarke,  200. 

Common  good,  115,  171,  194,  264  f., 

291  f. 

Conservatism   and  radicalism,  397  f. 
Conventionality,  72  f.,  110,  384,  385, 

387,  388  ff. 
Courage,  89  ff. 
Cudworth,  189  f. 
Cumberland,  190  ff. 
Custom,  69  ff. 
Cynics,  16,  158  ff. 

Darwin,  27,  360,  363,  369. 
Darwinism,  363  ff. 
in  ethics,  367  ff. 
Deliberation,  29,  31  f. 
Deodand,  law  of,  28. 
Descartes,  62. 
Desire,    theories   of,    113,    179,   225, 

249,  252  ff.,  298  ff. 
Determinism,  58  ff. 


Diogenes,  159,  161  f. 

Divine  laws,  78  f.,   176,  191  f.,  204, 

227  f. 
Duty,  67  ff.,  81  f.,  398  ff.,  404  ff. 

Effort,  96  f. 

Elite,  function  of  the,  340  ff. 
Empiricism,  13,  14  f.,  199  n.,  207  f. 
Energism,  102,    104,    131  ff.,    237  f., 

408  f. 

Epicurus,  126  ff.,  255. 
Ethics,  definition  of,  3  f. 

methods  of,  13  ff. 

problems  of,  101  ff. 

relations  of,  8  ff. 
Euclid,  123,  161. 
Eudoxus,  126. 
Evolution,  360  ff. 

of  moral  standards,  379  ff. 

Fatalism,  56  f. 
Fichte,  242  f.,  408. 

Gay,  200,  226. 
Genetic  method,  16  ff. 
Grotius,  176. 
Guyau,  405. 

Habitual  preferences,  300  ff. 
Habituation,  119,  150,  300  f. 
Happiness,  3,  9  f.,  102,  147  ff.,  317  f. 
Harmony,    morality    as,     135,    150, 

165,  218,  302  ff.,  308  f. 
Hedonism,  102,  123  ff.,  142  ff.,  147  f., 

232,  245  f.,  247  ff.,  407. 
Hedonistic  calculus,  126,  266  ff.,  276. 
Hedonistic  paradox,  255  f.,  271  n. 
Hegel,  243  ff.,  408. 
Hegesias,  127  n. 
Hippias,  106  n.,  108. 
Historical  continuity,  344  ff.,  350  ff., 

410  f. 

Hobbes,  62,  177  ff. 
Hume,  200,  211,  219,  221  f.,  223  n., 

237. 
Hutcheson,  200,  218. 


413 


414 


INDEX 


Imitation  of  ideal,  97  f. 
Indeterminism,  51  ff.,  56  ff. 
Individual,    utility   of   morality   to, 

116  f.,    125  f.,    127,    143,   215  f., 

275  f.,  296  ff .,  318  ff . 
Individual     differences,     35,     46  f., 

212  ff.,  333,  354  ff. 
Intention,  32,  40  f.,  231. 

to  do  right,  42  ff. 
Intuitionalism,  16, 103,  200  ff .,  207  ff ., 

222  f.,  232  f.,  409  f. 

Justice,  88,  115  f.,  151,  186,  219, 
283  f.,  400  f. 

Kant,  30,  55,  238  ff . 

Law,  authority  of,  77  ff . 

of  nature,   78,  173  f.,    175,    181  f., 

185  ff.,  191  f. 
Locke,  193  f.,  198,  200. 

Mill,  J.  S.,  235,  237  f.,  409. 
Moral  act,  analysis  of,  31  ff . 
Moral  agent,  26  ff. 
Moral  feelings,  23  f.,  109,  203  f.,  211, 

217,  220  f.,  228  f.,  235,  239. 
Moral  habits,  302  ff. 
Moral  judgments,  subjects  of,  23  ff, 

indirect,  29,  37,  48  f. 
Moral  sense,  151,  155,   209  ff.,  224, 

232. 
Moral  standards,  66  ff. 

evolution  of,  379  ff. 
Motive,  32,  39  ff . 

Nature  vs.  convention,  108  f.,  161  f. 
Nietzsche,  405. 

Obligation,  204,  205,  215  ff.,  226  ff., 

235,  307  f.,  313  f. 
Original  selfishness,    theory  of,   129, 

250  f.,  259  ff. 

Paley,  200. 

Personal  authority,  73  ff. 

Plato,  14,  15,  27,  61,  92,  102,  123, 
126,  132  ff.,  149  n.,  152,  154  ff., 
165,  216  n.,  219  n.,  265,  266. 

Pleasure ;  see  Hedonism. 

kinds  of,  143  f.,  145,  237  f.,  265  f. 


Price,  200. 

Pride    and     shame,     324  f.,     329  f., 

373. 

Prodicus,  106  n.,  107. 
Protagoras,     106  n.,     107  n.,     109  f., 

112n.,  124  n.,  133. 
Punishment,  39,  54,  374  n. 

Rationalism,  13,  16,  155,  200  ff. 
Responsibility,  50  ff . 
Retributive  emotions,  373  f. 
Rigorism,  102,  104,  158  ff.,  407  f. 

Sanctions,  68,  226  f.,  236. 
Selfish  theory,  129,  249  f.,  252  ff. 
Self-realization ;   see  Energism. 
Sentimentalism,  103,  199  f.,  207  ff., 

409  f. 
Sentiments,  304  ff. 

education  of,  330  ff. 
Shaftesbury,  198,  218. 
Skepticism,  73,  llOf.,  156. 
Smith,  Adam,  219  ff.,  327  n. 
Social  intercourse,  286  ff.,  292  ff. 
Social  nature  of  man,  133,  171,  195. 
Society,  utility  of  morality  to,  109, 

281  ff. 
Socrates,  13,  14  f.,  112  ff.,  133,   134, 

135,  136. 
Sophists,  105  ff. 
State  of  nature,  174,  182  ff. 
Stephen,  94. 
Stoicism,  16,  61,  163  ff. 
Sympathy,  219  ff.,  291,  324,  325  ff., 

373. 

Temperance,  91  ff. 

Theodorus,  125  n. 

Thrasymachus,  106  n. 

Time,  test  of,  343  ff. 

Tradition,  109  f.,  277,  370,  376  ff. 

Unforeseen  consequences,  33  ff . 
Utilitarianism,  103  f.,  223  ff.,  232  f., 
235  ff.,  409. 

Values,  theory  of,  9  f.,  114,  135,  143,  > 
147,  164  f.,  179  ff.,  192,  261  ff.,  . 
31  Iff.,  335  ff.,  382  ff. 

Virtue,    88  ff.,    115,    135  ff.,     149  ff., 
165,  389,  404  ff. 


'HpHE  following  pages  contain  advertisements  of 
books  by  the  same  author  or  on  kindred  subjects. 


Dogmatism  and  Evolution 


BY  THEODORE  DE  LACUNA  AND 
GRACE  ANDRUS  DE  LACUNA 

Of  Bryn  Mawr  College 

Cloth,  8vo,  $1.73  net 

After  an  analysis  of  the  dogmatism  of  the  seventeenth  and 
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A  Short  History  of  Ethics,  Greek  and  Modern 

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Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin 

isrno,  303  pages,  $1.00  net 

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The  Origin  and  Development  of  the  Moral  Ideas 

BY  EDWARD  WESTERMARCK,  PH.D. 

Martin  White  Professor  of  Sociology  in  the  University  of  London 
Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  the  University  of  Finland 

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Professor  of  Philosophy  in  University  College,  Liverpool 

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Ethics  :  Descriptive  and  Explanatory 

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President  of  the  College  of  the  City  of  New  York 


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